Through The Twilight - The Silver Crescents Trilogy: Book One
by Thieves of Thieves
Summary: Her parents are heroes of the Oblivion Crisis. Her brothers lead a guild of noble criminals bent on ending the purge of Valenwood's culture. This is Leila Lockharte's rebellion. It is a path that brings her closer to her mother's legend and further from her father's agenda. Will she see the truth, or become blinded by bloodlust? An original story.
1. The Raven's Induction To The Night

**This is the start of a saga that will take you on a roller coaster of an adventure. It represents the start of a Guild that was briefly mentioned by the in-game character Niruin of the Thieves' Guild storyline in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Niruin says, "I used to run with a guild down in Valenwood. I think they called themselves the Silver Crescents." There isn't any information about this thieves' guild, so it leaves a world waiting to be explored. And I did just that. While not focusing on Niruin (because he seemed like a minor member anyway), I decided to make the story of the Silver Crescents my Guild Master's origin story. I made the entire story lore-friendly while not hindering my artistic licensing. I hope you all enjoy my twists on Bethesda's timeline, and how I tie in mechanics from the game into something that's pliable if this world was real life.**

 **Please leave a review and tell me how you like it. Drop some criticism too!**

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 _I spat in the face of destiny. Those who told me that my only path was walked by my mother would meet the better end of my blade. Never trust soothsayers._

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 **The Silver Crescents** **Book One**

 **Through the Twilight**

Chapter 1: The Raven's Induction To The Night

Part One

How did I reach so far in this life? How did someone of my wild, explosive nature survive all the adventures and encounters with death that peppered along my one hundred years? How was I so lucky to have met the people that I have met—people who touched my heart, and shaped my soul?

My life has always had twists and turns that mirrored the vast forests of Valenwood. It may have been a life forged by the Divines above, or a beaten path written with my own two feet. A long series of events constructed the product you see before you. And so, I stay humbled, because the life I live is indeed a life to be thankful for, even with the twist and turns that fate has thrown at me.

The gods created all mortals, though our destinies may differ, there is no deficit in value between us. I was born a Bosmer elf, a wood elf. In the vast forest that is Valenwood, to some, it's a dangerous and sometimes savage place, but I'm not sure they would understand such a beautiful and intricate country. This is what the divines willed, and so it is.

My name is Leila Lockharte.

You may know me as the Guild Master of the Riften Thieves' Guild. Some of you hate me, some of you are frightened by my name, some may even wish for my death, but there are others; those of whom I hold dear to my heart; those who know me for the mortal I am, and those of whom I strive every day to protect. I think about them every waking second of my life. Their faces and the memories that we shared flash endlessly through my mind like the running water eternal canal. Without them, this path of life would be meaningless. And without them, I would not be here today. So, I walk down a path that normal people would deem dark and uninviting, only those who walked with me at my side can truly understand where this path leads, or what kind of destiny we could find. There's not one other person that can understand the path that leads us through the twilight to a destiny that lay in the darkest regions of the Mundus and of the void.

It wasn't always easy for me. For I have been on many paths in my life until I realized I had to forge my own. There were times I felt as if I should deter from this destiny, but my friends and family had always pulled me back. These times were harsh; these moments were perilous. In my eyes, it was my first life before the divines gave me a second chance to do it the right way, but I will never forget everyone from back then and the lessons I learned, and the people I've lost...

Back there in Valenwood, a different country than Skyrim, a different Thieves' Guild than the one in Riften. A different love and a different family. How could I forget them? How could I not remember everything that we've been through, the lessons they all taught me? How could I forget him? His smile, his courage, and his love, I could always remember Elren-the mortal I loved in the first half of my life. Even with all the pain, all the heartache, it was perfect, there was nothing about it that I would change, nothing at all.

But I tell you this story because people need to know that if one life ends, it does not mean all is lost. I can hope that you will learn from my words that I speak, and the story I tell about the life of a thief and a life before Skyrim.

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I stood with my feet planted firmly on the ground and body angled towards my target. An arrow fitted to my bowstring, drawn and ready, quivering against my cheek as the foliage several yards ahead of me stirred to life. My target wasn't a massive animal, but it was tough. For other children my age, it would be a semi-difficult kill, but I wasn't a normal girl. I was raised differently, diligently... harshly. An easy kill, or rather, it should've been. But the most laborious task became difficult with _him_ looking. And it always happened just like this.

The spring breeze only left a slight tug on the enormous trees making them rustle but not dance. The weather was with me today. The calmest time of the year and the best time to sharpen my skills while hunting. Although these small attempts my father tried at training me were subpar compared to my tutor, the Ancestors be the glory that my time with my tutor was over and done with, but it was far better than being out here with my father. He was critical of my every mistake, even after years of honing my skill since I was only five years old.

My brothers were close behind to play as Father's second and third pair of eyes. Though they didn't like our father much either, they were still his favorites, so it seemed.

Far ahead, the cries of a dying animal echoed through the brush, reaching my ears. My target found some prey which meant it stopped. The groveling rage and hissing told the tale of a fight, but not a very good one. All animals seemed to be predators in Valenwood's forests, some better than others. The creature reared its head in an effort to swallow its freshly earned food. Saliva and the blood of whatever poor animal fell victim to the beast oozed from its mouth in a pink foamy ichor, wetting its jaws and dripping sloppily to the dirt. It's too bad it had to die now and never enjoy another dead meal again. I had to kill it. Not just for training but because it was an ugly creature wanted for hunting in nearby villages, murdering children in their sleep and preying on livestock. With one swift arrow, I'll end its life shortly.

'Take the shot, Leila.' Milkar, my eldest brother, placed his hand on my shoulder. A sound resembling a sigh escaped from Father's mouth. I hadn't the nerve to look back.

A simple show of affection from my brothers would agitate the man. After all my feats in the years that he threw me at another elf's feet, he still believed I need to be stronger, more skilled. Any parent would want to have their children grow into able adults, especially on Tamriel where death waits at every corner, but there was no love to his ambition, only a desire to forge me into something I never wanted to become in the first place. That man did not care for me the way a father should care for his child.

A high-pitched song of death played as my arrow ripped through the air. It buried its head deep into the creature's neck. The beast now revealed to be a basilisk—scaly, crawling monsters that plague local the undergrowth of local villages—let out an airy hiss towards me, already moving towards it; my brothers who were trailing behind; and my father, who was standing on a ridge overlooking the process. The pressure immediately fell from my shoulders, something I had been taught to deal with under my tutor some years ago.

Aranwen snickered as he usually did. Sure, I was proud. But I shouldn't have been. This was too simple a kill, too close proximity. My record is beyond anything anyone has seen with others my age—Children, if you could call me a child. I wouldn't; I'm barely a child. Usually, I would buckle under the pressure of trying to impress my father, a feat in of its self. Glancing towards Father earned me a stark stare. There was no apparent reaction. Honestly, he looked at everyone like that. What exactly did I expect? It's never going to be enough for him. Nothing I do or have done. I gritted my teeth, holding back the fire forming on my tongue. 'Did you see that father? An easy target, the villagers will be pay happily.'

'It was an easy target,' he said, turning his back to me, cloak flailing. 'How could you be proud of that, when you can do so much better? _She_ was able to hit that same target at the top of a mountain at your age.'

'I'm not... I thought—'

'No one would be able to hit that as far as Mother could, Father.' Milkar interjected. 'She killed the beast, shot it directly in its weak neck. She has proven her training with Rollyn has paid off. Let us call it a day, pack it up, and head home...Shall we?' Milkar eyed my father with his brilliant, gleaming glare.

Father walked off. Not another word was spoken, not even the acknowledgment of the dead beast. Worthlessness wasn't the word I would use; it would be _guilt_ that fit the bill. Guiltiness for killing a woman that I never got the chance to meet. Mother died giving birth to me, and so he figured it was of my own doing that undid her... And people say, "when an elf woman can have a third child it's a symbol of luck." What a load of torrid sheep's piss. Gaining my father's respect is just a distant dream I don't believe I will ever achieve. All because of the circumstances in which I was born. "No tears for the strong, especially not in front of an enemy," my old bastard of a tutor used to say. It hurts, even more, wiping away the one tear falling down my cheek. These hunting trips were a colossal waste of my time. Father will never get it, and I was beginning not to care. Maybe someday, I will start to do things my way. I will make him acknowledge me... One way or another.

My brothers lived their lives in Father's praise. Both were tall, strong, and shared the innate skill to shoot an arrow further and more accurate any other Bosmer. Milkar was the eldest of us. A true-born leader...because those exist. I loved him because he looked out for me on many occasions such as this. But he lived in a class of thinking and skill all on his own. To be that good at everything must be lonely. I related to him the most.

We all looked the same to be truthful. Put the painted portraits the Lockharte siblings as younglings and you couldn't discern a difference. My siblings and I shared the same emerald eyes our mother was known for having. Father gave us our burnished hair with honey streaks flowing through it.

'Old men and their condemning criticism,' I said, fitting my bow to my back. 'One day, Father. One day.' A promise for the ages.

My brothers shared glances. 'Leila, Father is a difficult soul.' Milkar said.

'It's been two months since Tutor Rollyn gave me back to him, and he has yet to recognize my skill.'

Milkar sighed. 'It isn't that Father doesn't acknowledge you, Leila, give it time, and I'm sure he will express his pride for you.'

I scoffed. 'When the moons crash to Nirn! He hates me! Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. He just scolds me for my shortcomings!' We walked along the forest floor; wildlife scattered as we beat a path through the scrub.

'Don't you worry your little head about Father. He's just an arrogant—' Aranwen started, humorously.

'I think what Aranwen wants to say is that Father just has a different way of showing affection. We all had to experience this, little sister. You weren't the only one.' Milkar stated. 'Also. Aranwen is joking. Obviously, he knows Father's ears are as sharp as a wolf's.'

Aranwen chuckled. 'Oh, a wolf's, you say?'

Milkar didn't reply further. Since I was able to create memories, my father has always acted as if he hated me. Nothing I did was right for his praise. There were never any stories of how harsh Father was on Milkar and Aranwen when they were my age. Perhaps they shared the sentiment of resentment. Their accounts of Mother were that she was a beautiful maiden and one of the fiercest warriors in Valenwood. She had eyes as green as two sharply cut emeralds that could twinkle in any light. It's where my brothers and I got our eye color. Her skill with the bow was unmatched. Mother led the legendary Circle of Seven to the Oblivion gates and held back a horde of Daedra, saving Valenwood from the brunt of their forces. Father was also one of the legendary Seven that saved our province more than a century ago during Oblivion Crisis.

It isn't my lack of ability that bothers him, no, it's because I am not Ara of the Ghost Bow. I am not my Mother, and I will never be her. I would only dream to be half as skilled as her. Half the hero.

We emerged onto the road with our carriage awaiting us. The forest hid our little expedition as it hides all things. Mysterious, vast, and dangerous—Valenwood is an untamed world that would eat you up and spit you out with no remorse. But it was my home.

Father had taken his seat, his eyes scanning the deep, thick forest as if there was something hidden behind the veil of green, his chiseled chin pressed down onto his hand with his elbow braced against the edge.

'Are you done so soon, my Lord?' Wendell asked.

'It could have been much sooner.' My father told his Steward.

'All the better to get back to work, milord.' The old Bosmer smoothed wrinkles from his leather tunic with a gloved hand.

'I'd have a few words with that bastard Rollyn about her training,' My father stated. 'There isn't any reason she can't excel in the Ranger Guard, but in order for that to happen, she needs to be trained _correctly_.'

Ten years under Rollyn's tutelage and this man believed _I_ wasn't trained correctly. Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears only to come back and be told I wasn't good enough. I was five when I left home. Too young to have fought with blade and bow and grown into my potential. I mastered my bow at eight and took down children five years my senior with a knife at that age. And yet, in his eyes my training was inadequate?

'I...' I began to protest.

Father narrowed his eyes at me. 'Take us home, Wendell. I have important matters to attend to.'

Wendell shot me a sympathetic glance and gave the horse's reins a snap 'As you wish, milord.'

The carriage jerked into motion, and the horses cantered down the cobblestone road. Every bump and groove smashed, it was hard to restrain me from using the momentum and throttling my father. It wasn't the wisest of my ideas, because if Mother was the best warrior of the Oblivion Crisis one hundred and forty years ago, then Father was her second.

The slander was heavy, but it was something I've learned to live with since young. That was Father, and this is what he thought of me. Nothing more than a nuisance. Perhaps if I showed even half that potential and ability Mother carried in one fingertip, he might not be so critical of my faults.

The employment of Rollyn, a legendary weapon's master, to teach me everything that I needed to know to become like Mother was just another ploy of his. I trained for nine years of my life, missed my entire childhood only for him to say that I wasn't good enough. It's all his fault. All his. It'll take everything I have to live with Father again. Even in the months in my returned, I wanted to leave again. Just face the forest surrounding my home and take off like nothing ever mattered.

An hour of traversing the routes through the Grahtwood wilderness, we finally reached my house. My Father's estate was one of the largest in the region. In fact, being heroes of the Oblivion Crisis, Mother and Father were favorited by the people and by the Silvenar. Their privileges stretched far and wide. Our home showed just how better treated we were. The manor was built on the base of a tree. It was squat but covered enough space for more than three families could live within. It's branched stretched far up, twisting, and snaking towards the blue sky. No other trees grew around it. Some say that a battle was fought here between my Mother and a powerful Daedra a hundred and forty years ago and this tree was the only thing left standing. A quaint little story if you asked me. The manor walls were just the tree's bark, sporting large bulges and tags that grew in with the tree.

We lived on the outskirts of Elden Root, Valenwood's capital city. A grand place to live for any Bosmer. It was the metropolitan area for the province and the capital for the entire Aldmeri Dominion. Not that I like the Altmer that set up their base here because I genuinely hated them. Better yet, my dear old Father is the ambassador that connects Valenwood to the Aldmeri Dominion. He sits at the Silvenar's side, pretends to be the best of friends with him so that the Countreeve can get her rule across. At least that's how Tutor Rollyn explained it.

'Two hours on the range. Your brothers will accompany you. Perhaps they could show you how to hit a target truly.' Father stepped off the carriage, his cloak whipping.

Mother made great use of the land that Valenwood had gifted her for destroying the army of Daedra that threatened our forest. Besides the large snugpod, Mother built a field of targets to harness her children's latent potential. Her children being Milkar and Aranwen, she died before she could even bond with me or tell me that I was going to be special like every Mother is supposed to.

A crowd of Dominion advisers stood at the entrance to our home. They awaited my Father. Nothing but blues, golds, and reds draped the Thalmor agents, surrounded by the brass, eagle-ornate moonstone forged armor. I could look on at him with nothing but disdain for him and his Altmer friends. These elves were supposed to be our saviors, or so they said. I didn't believe it. They were incompetent with everything else. And rumors were spreading fast about their dealings with the Khajiit of Elswyr.

'As Ambassador for the new regime, Father fits perfectly for the role,' Aranwen said. There was absolute _awe_ in his voice.

'Do not fret over Father's position of power, brother. It's because he has a strong connection with the Dominion that he received such a job.' Milkar informed him.

I considered my brothers for a moment. Milkar my oldest brother was a full hand taller than Aranwen and several hands taller than me. His back was broad as he was wise, and his build said everything it had to about his strength. Aranwen was the younger image of Father, but these to have several opposite personality traits from each other that it was laughable that they were related. Though the resemblance was there, Aranwen was always a joker. Milkar was serious, and his knowledge was far too long for an Elf his age.

Stretching down the grass plain and ending at the tree line, Mother's field of targets was the largest in Valenwood. A half mile of rows upon rows of different targets that can hone the skill of an archer. It was paradise for the Bosmer. The best of the best come here to practice at the time, giving my Father wants for impressing his friends a great indulgence.

As a young girl, before being dragged off by that insufferable Rollyn, I couldn't even attempt at hitting the first few targets.

'The last one,' I said, thumbing the distance.

Milkar tightened the straps on his gauntlets and looked up incredulously. 'The last?' He grabbed the length of his hair and tied it into a single knot, his emerald eyes shining with amusement.

Milkar pulled his bow from his back. A grand thing, forged by the same hand and the same style as mine. Our bows were the Lockharte clan's heirlooms. A curved thing made from the bark of an Iron-Bark tree that was now extinct since the Oblivion Crisis. The Iron-Bark that came from the tree had these magical properties that allowed it to absorb magicka without being enchanted. I took my own into my hands. The bark was as hard and powerful as iron, but lighter than a bow made of oak bow or willow.

'Confidence,' my brother started, 'is what makes or brakes a warrior. Because if you don't have confidence, you will most certain hesitate in a fight and _that_ can kill you.' A common-sense lesson that should always be repeated, no matter how many times you've already heard it.

Milkar pulled an arrow from his quiver and met arrow to nock. He aimed far; the arrow ruled perfect with his chiseled jawline, his muscled arms rippled with striations. 'I'm not the best archer in Valenwood. And I will never be.' He released the arrow.

It flew true and without conflict. Slice through the air of resistance like nothing else. It ate the distance between it and the target in a mere bat of the eye and burrowed its head dead center in the furthest target. A simple board strapped to the protruding root of a tree.

Such power and accuracy displayed were typical of Milkar; his skill had to be many tiers above mine. Never had I been so envious of my brother.

'I don't remember this field being so easy to beat.' I said in astonishment. The hours of practice as a little girl was beaten by a single elf and a single arrow from his bow.

Milkar grin stretched right back to his ears. 'I wanted to show just what we are capable of, Leila. And you have so much more skill than what you believe you have. I was capable these feats for all my life, but...' He paused. 'Potential is an odd thing; you see it can blossom all at once in a mortal. For a child to realize their potential early is a blessing and a curse.'

'What do you mean?'

'A child that has realized his full potential is considered a prodigy, but average as an adult. It is not always good to rush into such potential. You must cultivate it, hone it, let it flourish over a lifetime. That is how the greatest warriors are found and molded. You have the greater potential than any Lockharte that has ever lived.'

'How do you know?' I asked. 'I can't even receive praise from Father.'

'That's because Father isn't comparing you to the average,' Aranwen chimed. 'He's comparing you to the Mer of his world, don't you know? Aranwen sat back with a chuckle. 'The warriors that come from Father's world aren't like you, Milkar, and me. They're from a different tier entirely. I don't blame him for expecting so much of us, honestly. If you'd have met Mother, you would understand.'

Milkar nodded. 'It may have been quite a long time ago, but I remember Mother. I remember her before you filled her belly. She was amazing. Her brilliance sometimes outshined us. We fought for her attention. But we were young.'

'How young?'

'I was around your age the year you came around. We spent every day watching Mother train with warriors from all around Tamriel. Swords, bows, knives, lancers, it didn't matter. She was always the best. The only person that was second to her was that man,' Milkar nodded towards the house, 'Father was apart of the Circle of Seven and Mother was their leader.'

I pulled an arrow from my own quiver and set it to my bowstring. Taking the stance was as easy as breathing to me. Years and years of repeating the motion made it like walking.

Milkar brought his face leveled with my drawn hand. His sharp eyes analyzed my stance. I could hold this for hours upon hours. He tested me for flaws in my stance, giving me the slightest of tugs and shoves. Years I have been doing this. I gulped in. I was too young, too much the amateur to try this shot, but now was the time to prove to myself that I have improved despite what my Father says.

Milkar tapped his skull. 'Right there. Let it free.'

He would probably deny it, but Milkar was closest to Mother's prowess. Even after only seeing him sporadically during my training ventures with Tutor Rollyn, I knew that he was in a tier far above Aranwen and me. By the way, he thought, how he handled his weapons training, and how he interacted with the world. He was a genius on all accounts. There were no doubts about it.

Amused admiration waved over me. Repeatedly this elf had proven to be the savior of my heart. The net that catches me from falling into the void of despair. He was my brother, but I wished he was my father. He was like a poster child of the Bosmeris warrior. A Mer to bring cheer to my heart.

Milkar the strong and stern, a natural leader. The brother whom I wanted to be like, and Aranwen the carefree and fun-loving child. Those were my brothers. Those were the two mortals that the divines have blessed me with.

My focus sharpened, everything around my peripherals blurred away and my target sharpened in my vision. I felt as if I was the arrow, a force of death and speed. I was its god, a synchronized connection between Archer and weapon. We often fool ourselves into thinking that to have power, we must believe ourselves to be better than those who don't. The simple answer is that we are not better than anyone else. But In our mind's eye, we are something we are not on the outside.

'Focus...' Milkar whispered, his voice became atmospheric, a smoky afterthought that circled around my focus but not cutting into it. I let the worries of life go and slipped into a colorless void where only I and my bow existed.

Where did I want to go? Where was my destination? Drawing my hand back, I heard the strain on the bow; I felt the quivering vibrations between my fingers. My eyes opened, and a drawn breath slowly released as if my soul had attached itself to the arrow.

I fired.

My bowstring reverberated a quick, metallic, and cold _twang_ as the arrow freed itself from my grip, traveling like a single lightning strike across grazing lands; a single herald of death that seemed to move increasingly slow as my heart began to speed. It flew far, and it flew true, passing the target my brother struck earlier, and into the tree line. And just as the target struck by Milkar's arrow had burst at the seams, so did mine. The feathered fletching shook violently, then halted to a complete perpetual stop. It was the perfect shot.

Aranwen chuckled. 'Bull's-eye...'

Milkar grinned and took a step forward.

I lowered my bow, my heart pounded in my chest 'It hit...' I turned to my brothers. It wasn't as if I hadn't hit targets farther than that. It wasn't as if it was hard, but when I was younger, hitting that target was only something of a dream. To see my progress was nothing short of astonishment.

'You see Leila,' Milkar began, 'if there is anyone who can surpass Mother, with all of her glory, it'll be you.' Milkar pressed his finger to my chest.

Aranwen folded his arms and nodded. 'Just believe in yourself, and there isn't anything you can't do.'

A sudden but quiet wind of change flowed over me. An urge to question the beliefs and ambitions that have been painting me for so long. Maybe a new strand of arrogance sudden grew from my mind, I cannot say for sure what it was, but I wanted to be seen different than I was now. To surpass mother—that was something that everyone I ever got the pleasure to meet had said. To surpass my dear mother who was a woman that was known for her feats. The words of my Father surely brought me down, and at times I felt like that suppressing what I could truly commit to. Maybe what Milkar had said was true about the curses and blessings of potential.

But that was an adventure for me to discover on my own.

Milkar, Aranwen, and I fired arrows at targets for hours before they left me. I kept going. A new wind of confidence overcame me. The day became night. The sun retreated behind the horizon bringing twilight with the twin moons. The forest became submerged with the bioluminescent light of the Forest God, Y'ffre's, blood. Green, yellow, pink, and blue hues illuminated the darkness of the night.

To the north, the Elden Tree stood protruding out into the sky, like a hand of Y'ffre trying to pluck the glittering spectacles of light in a dark sea of black. The forest has this harmonious gift of wonder to it. As if the Divines came down and knew exactly was they were doing when they made the trees, the plants, and the animals. When they made the trees as numerous as the stars above, I often wondered if I could not solve the world's problems on a similar basis of harmony. Treat everyone as if they were heroes in their own right. Like stars wrapped in the night sky or trees with Y'ffre's Light.

Tangible images of the world molested my mind. Normality was never an option for me. They seldom are for the gifted children. It's a curse, I'd say because you've got all those terrible possibilities.

It was a wonder that came about every so often. Soon after I left home, _family_ became a strange word to me. My mother was gone, brothers nowhere to be found, and my father; someone who paid too much attention to the wrong things and not the right things. Only the gods knew how much I desired him to look upon me with appraise and rejoice.

Did I love my father? A hard question to answer, but I did love him just as my brothers loved him. I would even go far as to say that I admired him. All I ever wanted was his approval. But now—as ashamed I am to admit—that want for his love was quickly dwindling.

" _She'll be just like Ara when she comes of age!_ " They said. " _Her prowess will show in due time, though Ara was better than her at that age!_ " The same conversation being repeated over and over.

They continued to shape me to the likeness of my Mother. Gave up when they saw I didn't have it in me. Father kept on, had me fire arrows until my fingers bled. He left me at the feet of Rollyn, told him to deal with me. I have no destiny of my own—only what my father thrust on to me. If becoming Mother isn't my purpose, then what was?

To me, the world was empty and lonely—a void that was ready for filling. But with what? I could ponder it day and day out, but what would become of it? How can I surpass what I am now? An empty shell of nothing, unable to become like Mother.

It is often said that the secret to happiness is freedom and the secret to freedom is courage.

I need that courage. What will give it to me?

My last arrow spent, I looked down at my hands. How tough they've grown is a testament to how hard I tried to achieve a goal that wasn't mine. It was a surreal feeling at that moment with my brother's words resounding in my mind. I could be more; I should be more. I had to push on, carve my own way. Mother will always be the shining goal at the end of the path, but I didn't have to follow such a fate that was created by Father or anyone else. I will create my own.

I reached out with my beaten hands, trying to grab onto something that seemed so far away. The stars in the night sky, the trees on the edge of Mother's field, the gargantuan Graht-Oaks that dotted the forests, it didn't matter. I wanted something; I wanted it to be all. But I didn't want it the way everyone else wanted. Defy. Defy. Defy them all. To exist on my own terms, that is my goal.

A raven gawked at me from a nearby target, an onyx thing the size of my head. It glared back at me with its black eyes, deep as the void.

'Why would you want to visit me?' I asked it. 'A girl without her own destiny?'

I turned away towards Father's manor. Spring-Garden couldn't have seemed farther.

' _Is it hard to have your own destiny? Can't you find your own_?' It was my mind, but I entertained the thought that someone cared.

I turned back towards the blackbird; it's attention still to me as if it truly did ask those questions. 'Because I don't know anything else. I wouldn't want to.'

' _Shadows grow long in the twilight; they overtake their owners. You're like a shadow. Become like me._ ' I watched the bird flitter around. It bit on something, something bright and twinkling.

'What do you have to offer?'

I walked towards the thing. It acknowledged me with a shift of its head. Its sleek feathers shone a deep, inky darkness. ' _Paths aren't forged on their own; no one can make you a path for you. Walk. Walk and never look back on this place._ '

It was like a call of the wind. It raced past me, through me, it took me in an embrace. I felt it flow into my leather garbs, fill me with thoughts that hadn't occurred to me before. The raven opened its mouth and dropped a twinkling, green stone. An emerald, bright in Y'ffre's bioluminescence. 'What?'

' _Leave, Leila._ '

Leave. Leave. Leave. The winds came again stronger than strong. It forced me to move, take a step. A flurry, a whirl, or a spirt, whatever it had been, it was strong. Like an urge, a longing deep in my heart. Fourteen years old and I won't be told, I can't be told. My hands wrapped around the gem. I felt its edges; life was like an emerald. It's green and beautiful until you twirl it around in your hands and eventually find an edge to cut yourself.

And so, I took a step. A slow one at first, but it was a step.

' _Don't follow the path.'_ An emerald-eyed ghost crossed the tree line and disappeared. ' _Blaze the trail._ ' The raven flapped into the air and flew into the woods.

I followed.

I walked at a slow pace at first, descending the first hill and reaching the first of the targets. Droves of splattered arrows permeated the ground and the wooden structures. Most buried to the shaft, the dead of imaginary enemies. Others were broken, shattered, failed shots. It was the same mid-way across the field, but this time my slow pace had picked up into a stride. My feet wrapped in padded footwraps brushed the soft grass, feeling the grains of dirt slip in and out of my toes. At the end of Mother's field and the start of the tree line, I sprang into a light jog.

The forests of Valenwood are different from any other in Tamriel. Its luminescent glow that each plant and animal emitted during the night was green, indigo, or pink hue that mystified Nirn. The Bosmer called it Y'ffre's Light. Some shone as brightly as stars, some only carried dull hues.

The buzzing of insects, the howling cries of the night's nocturnal denizens whisked into my ears. My light jog had evolved into a full-blown sprint. The trees and the brush becoming a blur to my peripherals but clawing at my skin all at once. Something has drawn breath into my soul, clenched it in a tight grasp, and whispered softly into my ears. It was an urge to run, an urge to do more. To seek freedom within the night, to search for some sort of salvation in the shadows. I felt that I had to be somewhere, but where? Not here, not back at my home. But... somewhere beyond Father's hand—beyond Mother's shadow.

I noticed beams of moonlight shooting through the trial of hundreds of feet of trees. The lucky pillars of the Divines that made it to the forest floor. And so, running as fast as my legs could carry me, I looked up to the stars and the black sky. The twin moons, Masser and Secunda, shining bright their supple light. There I felt it, a presence unlike any other.

It could have been merely exhilaration that drove its hooked grip on my mind. But I'd put a fat coin purse on the exhaustive task of creating another Ara of the Ghost Bow. Expectations of my skills and being _her_ daughter. I let it carry me through towering trees and through the thicket that separated my home from the world.

I flew with the raven that night; I didn't care where it would take me, so as long as where ever I landed, I could find my true destiny. This was my sign, my aspirations becoming something tangible.

 _You are here; you are you. You are Leila Lockharte and no one else. The path you will forge will be yours alone; it will be your choice. You will see the world as you wish it. No one can take that away from you. It is power you seek, power to change the world around you, stop the chaos. Destroy anything and anyone in your way. Her power can be yours, but there isn't anyone that can lead you to it besides you. Remember this: you are like a raven, you are free to fly in the blackness of the night. You are not someone's shadow; you are_ _ **the**_ _shadow._

Reality returned to me like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. But even so, I felt...free in an odd way. Like suddenly, I didn't need Father's approval. There wasn't need to become like Mother. There was just me and a void that I needed to fill.

The trees thinned, and I managed to break out onto a road. Sleepless even at night, the road stretched down into the city of Elden Root. Dirt and moss-covered cobblestone webbing through the outskirts of forest and city. The calamity of urban life, crawling about in a mass of bodies and transports. Even in the night, Elden Root never ceased to run. High above, the Elden Tree towered. It loomed over Nirn, like a Divine of nature ready to soak the sun and shield the denizens below. Its roots stretched out like twisting roads driving into the ground and exiting, like a thread patching a godly wound on the world. Elden Root was one of many Graht-Oaks that littered Valenwood. Our trees were large, but Graht-Oaks were mountainous, holding entire cities to its bark and districts crossing its powerful boughs. Apart from the Elden Root's districts, the lower city that sprawled out from the tree's base. It was as if the tree had vomited out the large buildings and structures across a long stretch of land that reached out for miles in all directions.

Elden Root had always been my home. The lay of the land started out as supple farmland, trees planted in rows upon rows which fed the city's citizens. Then the urbanicity hits you. All sorts of people lived here. Mer, Wood Orc, humans, and creature-folk come here from all around the Tamriel.

Elden Root was a nocturnal creature. Guards and Dominion soldiers patrolled the streets on the lookout for the next unruly traveler or citizen that stepped out of line, merchants called out their wares in a scrambled song of loud, obnoxious voices, and the rattle of city sounds burst into my ears from every corner.

No one gave any thought to a child only fourteen summers old. Children in the city were a common sight. Dirty urchins begged street merchants, more well-off children followed their parents, never missing a step behind them. Elden Root's massive root walls segregated its districts like gates usually made of stone. I followed the whirr towards the markets, a place where I spent time before.

A greying Bosmer overlooking his stall caught my eye especially. His eyes were a stark green, and wrinkles flowed in waves from the corners of his eyes and lips. A large cloth covered cart was parked at his back, and his stand displayed several types of bows and arrows—amazingly fletched ones at that. His eyes locked on to me and a wrinkled smirk grew on his lips. 'Well met, young one.' He said, looking down. He was almost three heads taller than me. But then again, I was a small child: strong, but small.

'You carve these on your own?' I asked, enthusiastically. If I was a dog, my tail would have been wagging with excitement. The man studied me for a moment before casting his eyes on my own bow. I tore it from my back, so he had a better view of the bow. 'A family heirloom, a gift from the Fighter's Guild. My brothers have one of their own. Only three in the entire world.'

'I've never seen Iron-Bark so expertly carved...' He gawked. 'And what's this? Your bowstring is made of Gleam blossom flax... how marvelous!' I knew my bow was impressive. This wasn't a new reaction to my bow. The Iron-Bark wood was rare—seldom anyone ever crosses another wielding Iron-Bark any weapons.

Valenwood, almost everyone can appreciate a well-made and expensive bow. The man's smirk never left his face.

'None of yours can really compare...' I muttered disappointedly. I didn't mean to speak the insult out loud, and he sure as Oblivion wasn't supposed to hear it. I shot him an apologetic glance, but he merely shrugged off the unintentional insult. When it came to bows and the fletching of arrows; when it came to weapons in general, I acquired the same taste as my tutor. I pressed my bow into his hands and took one of his. It _was_ very a well-made bow; its quality is as good as those wielded by the Ranger Guard.

The crunch of leather itched my ears from behind, but I paid it no mind. 'What do you want for it?' He asked. I shook my head. To be truthful even if he offered me his entire cart worth of merchandise, I would not part with the thing. I've had it since I was able to wield a bow and draw a bowstring pass my cheek.

'Not for sale,' I stated. I pushed his simple bow back on its display and took my bow from him. 'Sorry—'

'Fine. Run along now.' The old merchant resigned into the shadow of his cart. An air of apology escaped my breath, but I had managed to say nothing. He grimaced and turned to attend to his merchandise.

Iron-Bark weapons may have been some of the finest weapons made in all Tamriel. The wood is said to be as strong as Ebony. To part with my bow would be my folly. I turned from the fletcher's stall only to catch a quick waft of air against my neck. It put a right chill down my spine, but it was quick, inconspicuous. I spun around to see him take it. Like a ghost in the night, a black shadow sweeping from corner to corner. In the blink of an eye he was gone, but in that sliver time, everything seemed to stop as if we both were caught in between two moments. The boy's eyes locked with mine—big brown and inviting. There was the slightest hint of a smirk crossing his curved lips. A second later, I was staring at his back as he raced down the street. His hooded cloak flailed with the generated winds of speed.

I blinked once then I blinked twice. He was gone, vanished in the crowds of consumers scrambling the marketplace. It took quite some effort to pick my jaw up from the ground. An empty display case fell in the boy's wake, pulling me from the shock of what had just transpired.

'Did you just—' I turned to the merchant who cast a sharp green eye down on me.

'What?'

'That boy...He just stole from—'

'Did you just steal from me girl?' The merchant's wrinkles began to fold in on each other.

'What? No! It was not me!' My cry seemed to fall deaf on his long gray furred ears.

'Who could have stolen it? Where did you hide it?' The merchant emerged from behind his stall cart. 'Come here!'

I took two quick steps away from his reach, the desperate old elf growing too close for comfort. I pled with him, tried to tell him his mistake for blaming you. I could have dismissed his anger and left him to stew in it. But I have my pride too. I took another step back as he grew closer and backed into to something hard. The squeal of leather spun me around to meet a tall Bosmer clad in Ranger Guard armor. Great... A getaway from my Father only landed me in more trouble. It was more than what I wanted.

A light orb drifted over the street illuminated the Ranger Guard's face to reveal a not so amused frown. 'What seems to be the problem here?'

The merchant pointed an old crinkly finger at my face. 'This little urchin stole from me!'

'I didn't!' I argued.

'Tell it to the Magistrate when he's sentencing you to the dungeons!'

My mind began to race for a possible answer, a well enough excuse or plead to convey my innocence. The Ranger looked down at me impatiently but eager to take me away with him. The entire market began to crowd, casting accusatory glares and scowls. My mind began to swirl with it. The world refused to make sense anymore; my mind wasn't working. Not the merchant, who only a moment ago was just admiring the carved work of my bow, the guard ignoring my side of the story, or the people closing in on me. That boy, he moved so swift and stole so fast that it seemed like a gust of air snatched it right off the shelves. That boy, whose eyes were a sad brown but with a grin of mischief. That boy who put me in this situation.

 _That boy._

This was his doing, and he would be able to clear up the misunderstanding. Sweat beaded heavily on my forehead. That boy was gone, and there was no hope of him coming back.

The Ranger Guard warrior reached his hand for my collar. The Ranger Guard were Valenwood's staunch warriors. They were highly skilled professionals that made up the army of Valenwood. Father and Mother were once apart of the Ranger Guard before they were viewed as heroes of the Oblivion Crisis. They weren't a force anybody would want to trifle with.

I smacked the elf with the limb of my bow, sending him reeling back in surprise. I hardly managed any damage to the warrior, but I managed to startle him enough to make an escape. Ducking and hopping past hopeful citizens trying to play the good Samaritan, there was, but one thing on my mind: clearing my name before Father found out.

My feet pounded against dirt and stone, and the wails of bystanders resounded from behind. I knew I could outrun a warrior of the Ranger Guard, so I decided to bide my way in the nooks between buildings. Some alleyways left the world dark, but I didn't let it stop me.

I could have ended it there by telling them who I was—whose daughter I was. But that would have meant the satisfaction my Father would have received by punishing me. Perhaps he would have sent me away again to train. I would run for miles to never have to see Tutor Rollyn again. Although, living with him on the road wasn't as bad as living in lavish with my father. Any ill news that would cross my father's ears would end in severe punishment. At least that's what I believe. I couldn't give him that win. And so, I ran. I ran as fast as I could.

They called after me, but there was no way in Oblivion I was going to stop. Of course not, I'd rather risk my freedom running then to sit there and give up the chance of escape. No... that boy will be found, and he will make things right. It wasn't much of a chore to shy my face away from the onlookers as past them. I was already several streets away before I decided to make an inconspicuous stroll towards the city's exits. I kept caution about me. Recognition was not an option. Being the daughter of the legendary Faeden Lockharte, Ambassador of Valenwood and Ara High-Arrow of the Ghost Bow, anyone could say they have seen me here. The single giveaway was my eyes. My accursed eyes I shared with Mother.

Weaving through the crowds as swiftly as my body allowed me to at a brisk walk, I felt an electricity flow through me. Something different from the tug that brought me to the city, something exuberant. My hands were steady, my mind clear, and not the slightest of anger festering in me. But my skin prickled, and pins poked every inch of my body. My body was in a frenzy, something that I haven't felt in a long time. It was as if a slave just realized her new-found freedom. My hand traced across my cheeks and my lips. I was smiling, giggling even. I was having fun.

The markets had been alive and well, but this part of Elden Root was dead. Full of deserted streets with so few stragglers unaware of my hair-raising getaway. There were so few sconces here that the shadows flowed in accordance to the flickering lights, they seemed like living tendrils looking to grab anyone from the light and drag into any dark corner of the city. There's no underestimating the Ranger Guard here in Valenwood; the stories ran long of their hunts for criminals and enemies. But I knew how men and mer thought; I was trained that way. Sweat ran in rivulets down leather archery armor. Being smart about my escape, I stayed completely out of the light-orb sconces that floated around the city on some magical route. The shadows offered their safety to me. Not even wanderers saw me.

 _You are the shadow._

I was completely invisible. My escape from the markets was swift enough, but I rejoiced the fact that it was Bosmer warriors the pursued me and not Dominion soldiers. If it had been the Thalmor in their gleaming gilded armor, I would already be dead before any questions were asked.

The world fell eerily silent. Fallen four-prong leaves crunched under my soles. I felt a rising worry building within my chest. All the excitement and exhilaration from earlier slowly fading into a cold, wary anguish. Every step meant more of my bravery diminishing. My conscience forced me to peek every corner and stare every half-lit street. My hope to find that boy was now foolish looking back on it. Just plain stupid to think that I'd be able to find him in such a large city. These streets were merely the outside of the great Graht-Oak, and the core of the city was inside the tree itself. Even the thought of searching for him seemed maddening to me now. I should cut my losses and flee back home now before anyone else finds me.

'Did I cause trouble for you?'

The voice slipped from the shadows like a snake slips from a branch. I spun on a Septim. The boy from earlier perched up on a smooth marbled stone as tall as a troll and as thick as a horse. The only providing light was the twin moons, and that caused a thick shadow to cast over the front of his body. But I recognized him easily enough. The dark, brooding cloak draped over his shoulders ending before his torso led to his legs. His head obscured, casting an even deeper shadow over his face. The fact that the boy wore leather armor completely tightened to his skin, almost acting as a second skin, was proof enough. He was a thief. And earlier couldn't have been his first criminal act.

'It's you!' I hissed, moving a few paces towards him then stopped. I hadn't thought about how dangerous the boy could have been. Even if he was just a boy, no more than a summer older than I was. I clutched my bow in my tight fist. 'By Auriel, you've made trouble for me! You've got the guards searching as if I'm some criminal. I'm not even supposed to be out here, so if my Father finds out. I'm—I'm—'

'I'm sorry if I caused you trouble,' He repeated himself. His voice was soft and low, almost inaudible, but it was smooth and comforting. He hopped off his stone throne, allowing the moonlight she'd better light on the rest of his body. His brown leathers were like that of a Bosmer archer. Ancient and in tatters as it were, it still would allow him the mobility to move at such great speeds as he did earlier.

I stared at him incredulously. 'You have to clear my name.' I said, all the anger from earlier slowly dissipating. 'Look just tell them you did it.' The boy's eyebrow raised, and as he came nearer, my bow raised more. I let my hand find my quiver. He stopped his approached abruptly and threw his hands in the air. 'I don't know what you're about, so you'll just come with me, won't you?'

He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. 'I won't be able to do that,' He stated in a low, shy tone. My arrow nocked to my bow now, I pushed the tip to his chest, and he grimaced. Of course, I didn't want to kill him, either way, my father would have my head, but I wanted to see if he'd be frightened enough to do as I say. But he showed not even a flinch. He unhooded himself and spoke clearly. 'What's the point, we'll just both be jailed.'

My brow furrowed. He made sense, maybe too much sense, and I hadn't thought about that through my panic. Just as I lowered my bow and considered him for a moment, the loud clatter of guard armor ringed from down the road. Dominion soldiers. A whole platoon of them.

'They're for us?'

'They're for me, you root licker!' I snapped. My heart pounded heavily against my heart. Fear was an emotion I didn't like to handle, even with the fire of excitement still coursing through my veins. 'They're going to jail me, and it's your fault.'

I caught a glimpse of the boy's eyes. Brown...they were that deep tawny color reminiscent of the human Imperials from the northern province. But that wasn't what kindled my curiosity. The fact that he was grinning and smiling through those brown eyes of his. With his hood on, anyone would mistake him for an Imperial, but now his pointed ears and slickened brown skin revealed he was also Bosmer. A half Bosmer half human.

'We aren't going to be caught.' He said. With an abrupt tug on my hand and his grin stretching further along his face, he pulled me deeper into the alley.

'We're running?' The clatter of armor grew closer, echoing on the bark-covered buildings.

For a moment he paused, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. The twin moons still behind him, shining all their light on me. 'Your eyes.' He muttered.

'My eyes?'

He let out what I thought was a mixture of a snort and a chuckled. 'Now this is interesting.'


	2. A Shimmering Shadow

**Again, thanks all for reading. I hope I captured the sheer size and scope of Valenwood. Massive trees with bases wider than your entire neighborhood, Graht-Oaks taller than the Empire State Building, plant life that glows like the flora of James Cameron's Avatar. If I did a poor job convincing that aspect, let me know in a review!**

* * *

 _Darkness is pure and unfettered. Light in the forest creates more shadows than it eliminates._

* * *

Chapter 2: A Shimmering Shadow

'Great, yes, I am the daughter of the ambassador. Yes. Yes. Can we get moving?'

He shook his head and chuckled at whatever amusement I did not understand. Thalmor soldiers and Ranger Guard chased us now, all wanting my head probably. Wanted as a thief now and escaping this looked pretty grim. There were times, during my years of training, that Rollyn put me in some rather dire situations, and I always found a way out of it, but there isn't someone like Rollyn to bail me out now. No cleverly escape, no honeyed wit.

'I know Milkar and Aranwen!' The boy spared a dark glance back as we hustled down the back streets. 'I'm going to take you to them.'

Ignoring the angry guards hot on our tail, I looked at him, eyes wide, but keeping my pace. 'What? My brothers? You know them? How?' The series of question came between glances back.

'Do you trust me?' He asked.

'And why in Oblivion would I do that?' He didn't answer. Our interlocked hands didn't help that argument. A heated flash crept along my neck as I let go of his grip. I didn't stop running.

I stayed my tongue for the run. Our hearts thumped, and feet pumped. It wasn't until we reached the ends of the city did our pursuers seem far enough. They say the best adventure start with some sort of incited event. There are times when you just know that it's time to start something new and trust the magic of new beginnings. In any case, I _was_ having fun, even with the threat of imprisonment for theft.

We found ourselves under the rolling dome of the Elden Tree's root. We remained on top of a hill overlooking the city's districts like a blanket of shadow spread over a bed and thousands of dazzling lights peppered across the blackness. I collapsed into the grass, a dusting of glittering pollen plumed around me. The boy fell to his knees, heaving air into his lungs with long breaths.

'How do you know my brothers?' I asked, finally. The glow from the Elden Tree bathed the boy's entire figure in a mad mix of phosphorescent hues.

'We're friends.' The distance between the guards and us had widened far enough to strike the question.

'Friends?'

'Friends.' He nodded.

The thing about my brothers is that I couldn't have known what they were up to all hours of the day. There had been nights, since my return, where they would never come home until the day was old. Their excuse would be training, of course, when I often inquired about their dirty armor and tattered clothes, but thievery? That was something new to me. This boy claiming friendship with my brothers was a surprise. And not the right kind. I studied his face some more. That insufferable smile still painted on his face made me want to smack it right off him.

'What's your—'

'Elren.'

I huffed. 'They've never mentioned you before.'

'Makes sense.' He wasn't even surprised at that, not even a flinch.

'So, what now, Elren?' I found it hard to keep the anger from my words, but my growing fear often evolves to anger quickly. 'If we don't move from here, the Ranger Guard will be all over us.'

'Well.' He looked around nervously. 'You could go home and pretend we never met.'

I shoved him. 'You don't get to do that now! You tried to pin your little stunt on me earlier, and I won't walk away from this until you confess to the Ranger Guard that it was you who stole that bow!' I searched him with my eyes. 'Where is it?'

'Don't have it,' he said.

'Well, where is it?'

'I hid it,' he answered as if it was some sort of genius move.

I spat. 'By all that is the bones of Y'ffre!'

We sat on a grassy hill overlooking the city of Elden Root. Its roots branched out in all directions, digging into the ground, and creating these giant cysts of dirt upon the land. I've heard stories of far lands where a place like this would seem alien. It gave me an honest humility of the home I lived in. I loved Valenwood; I loved it with all my heart, and I would do anything to protect it. Perhaps Mother and I shared that much with each other—Father too—but we were just different people that needed to follow different paths. Which is why I found myself out here and in this situation. I tried to help my own way, now everyone will shun me.

'Follow me,' he beckoned.

'How do I know you won't drag me somewhere far off and slice me up for the tree-skeevers?'

'I won't.'

I stood and watched him ascend the hill. 'Where are you going?'

'Home. Shimmer Root.'

'Are you not going to clear my name? They think I'm a thief!'

Elren scratched at his tawny, short hair. 'Why would they? You'd make a bad thief.'

The pride of being calm through this entire ordeal quickly dissipated as my anger began bubbling to the surface. I took my bow in my hands and aimed an arrow right at the boy's heart. He watched me with those big brown eyes. Elren's grin faded, and I finally felt like I was going to win something over him. It even felt good to see the boy's unyielding grin shy away. 'Well come on,' I said, keeping distance enough so the arrow would be an effective kill.

A soft breeze rushed between us, the half breed's eyes twinkled in the low light. There was a simplicity to him, a sort of humbleness that put a quick calm to my mind. I've seen this province, from the peaks of the Dragon Teeth to the murky swamps of the Drowned Coast. But never have I ever seen a boy with so much mischief and the same amount of innocence. Just as fast as my anger came, it was gone in an instant upon looking into his eyes and down at his faded smile. It was like a drug, an intoxicating Folk Weed that made you come back for more. Perhaps it was the way his lips curled, his teeth shone, or how his eyes curved up when his innocence formed on his face.

He ignored my drawn arrow and offered his hand.

We were far from the Market District, far from the inner city. On the outskirts of Elden Root, the people were far and few. These were the Altmer neighborhoods, migrants from across the Blue Divide. But we were outside of the of the trouble that wanted to find us. If I knew anything about Valenwood's enforcers, it was that we should not underestimate them.

'I can't go back,' he said.

'Why the dark Void not?' He was pushing me.

'Because your brother needs me.' His soft voice had no hints of falsehood in it, no deception.

I sighed and dropped my stance. 'Need you for what?'

Elren's grin exploded into a full-blown smile. His lips cracked into a row of whites as his brown eyes weakened me at the knees. I avoided eye contact for just a moment, feeling as if he would melt me in my place. 'Come. You'll see. It'll be a surprise for him.'

'I—' The words choked in my throat.

That damned smile of his.

There are some people in this world that you could figure out at a glance. Judging others by the way they moved, how they talked, and how they stood was a skill that was crucial in Valenwood. Some just conveyed the vibe of a snake that would bite you the moment you turn your back to them. But Elren, he was different. His body radiated trust, safety, and integrity. The simplicity of his mind gave it all away, but you wouldn't find anyone more mischievous.

We pushed into the glowing brush. Every step of his stimulated the touch-sensitive moss carpeting the forest floor, sending out rings of green at every footstep. I followed Elren through the green, indigo, violet, and sometimes iridescent plant life. Elren carried the crux of confidence in his stride, traversing the thickness of the jungle with ease.

'Leila,' I blurted randomly.

'That's a nice name.'

Something that could be the beginning of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. 'Thank you.'

'Your brothers spoke a lot of about you,' he said.

My brow furrowed. 'So, you already knew my name?'

Elren chuckled guiltily. 'Yes.'

'Well, they never spoke a word about you.'

We walked on in silence, and I found that I kept close to Elren despite my earlier distrust of the boy. The solitary aura he gave off, the way he walked with his back straight, head held up, his confidence, and not to mention the grin. It all just made me feel courageous. I could take on Father even at that moment.

The route from Elden Root to wherever Elren was taking me seemed like it would take a while. Besides our shared adventure, the both of us really had nothing to talk about. Well, I did, but he spoke so few words, I thought he might have been thick-headed. But every few minutes he would glance back and share his smile with me which kept me following. Trust wasn't a thing I gave out easily; my years with Tutor Rollyn taught me that, but there was something about him. But, like I said, Elren was a walking allusion: simplistic but complex, stupid but intelligent all in the same breath.

'So, are both my brothers thieves as well?' I asked his back.

'Not thieves,' he answered, 'Milkar wouldn't use that word.'

'Bandits? Highwaymen? Oh, how about marauders, raiders, brigands?'

'Rebels.' The answer fell from his lips effortlessly.

Rebels; I let the word roll on my tongue. 'That's rich coming from you, thief. You stole from that bow merchant and ran away.'

Elren looked back at me and scratched the top of his head. 'It's complicated. Milkar can explain. You'll see soon enough.'

An hour passed without any sign of anything, just more forest and more night. The excitement from earlier died down, and the lack of sleep began to get to me. An hour passed, and the magic of the night was almost spent. Any conversation was non-existent, and I had to sometimes call Elren's name to see if the boy wasn't just an illusion. He could be as quiet as a mouse or even quieter.

I wouldn't have minded the stroll if there was something more to than monkeys swinging in the trees, wild Bush Horses, and Vortex Owls. Though, it gave me time to reflect on the beauty of my home. That wasn't something I was wont to do. Most of my life I was told what to do and what to think, never enough time to think for myself. Only when I laid in my bed at night, or whatever I called a bed for that night, did I look up to the stars and reflect, or looked at the trees that made up the jungle and understand how privileged I was to live in such a land.

These forest that made up Valenwood were grand. Trees in other lands were mere sapling bushes compared to our youngest tree. And the Graht-Oaks, taller than tall, like gods among their children, reached for the skies in an endless trek upwards. A single Graht-Oak can house over a hundred Bosmer at a time. It's why we built our cities upon their largest. Elden Root can still be seen through the trees' canopies from here. Its awe covered in the lights of a hundred thousand luminescent flora. A tree from anywhere else was like a blade of grass to a giant.

We passed through a cloud of hungry insects, and the underbrush began to thin a bit. Only we weren't out of the forest just yet, merely stepping into the shadow—or light—of something truly mesmerizing. Graht-Oaks deep in the jungles were common, only the ones as large as the Elden Tree and Falinesti in the north were extremely rare. What we had before us wasn't citywide but village-wide at the very least. I took a few steps forward past Elren, gawking at the sheer beauty of the tree. Besides its vastness, the tree was a complete spectacle. Its branches glowed a pulsing white, with its leaves strobing the usual green hue softly. Small petals rained gently down to the ground, beautiful things that shined like tiny stars as they fell in droves. I held my hand out to one flittering gently down on my palm, but just as soon as it felt my touch the petal burned away in a colorful death.

'Shimmer Root?'

Elren nodded. 'We stay inside.'

'Inside!' I snapped. 'In this thing?'

'Come.' He grabbed my hand again.

I swallowed hard and let him pull me willingly. The Graht-Oak's roots lifted the base of the tree far from the ground, making it able to fit a multistoried tower underneath it. Its width had to be village-wide, a small village at least. You'd think something like this would have a broad shadow, hiding anything that lived around or under it in darkness, but no. The light of flora that grew beneath chased away the darkness. Large mushrooms grew to the size of goliaths dwarfing Elren and me. The bottom of the tree opened like a massive spiral stairwell, leading up to the innards. Even the bridge into the damned thing can hold a hundred men shoulder to shoulder. We ascended into it, like entering a world within a world.

My first impression was that it was arboraceous, like the rest of Valenwood. The strong tinge of pine fumes left a sweetness on the tongue. Nodes of dried sap littered the ground like clots of dried blood on an undressed wound. There was enough room in this single Graht-Oak to build a living, thriving community with enough room to spare. The tree yawned a breath of dusty air from its massive cavity.

'Milkar is in there?' I asked Elren who kept ascending the tree.

'And Aranwen. This is our hidden sanctuary. It's where we planned our next job.'

'Job?'

Elren grinned.

When the ground leveled, and we were walking through the cavernous innards of a sparkling Graht-Oak, the events of the night finally became too surreal. It was as if the gears in my head started churning. What in the Void was I doing here? What, in the last hour, changed? It was already well past the moon's height, and the night was already long

Finally, we ended the journey at the edge of a large, amber node. A floor carved and chipped away tirelessly into a sturdy foundation to build on. I looked ahead, my curiosity focused like a moonbeam. A border of sconces, all mismatched, surrounded the platform, each filled with hardened amber nodes emitting enough light to reveal a significant depression. The dwelling looked ancient but still sturdy. We quickly entered through stair in the center of the stone platform.

A single hall stretched for a field's length. And by the furthest wall sat my brothers.

The hall was filled with all the right amenities needed for living. An area to cook stood on the behind the stair, living quarters opposite there. My brothers sat in what looked an area for entertainment: a twisted compilation of flat roots used as a table outstretched before him, a fire burning adjacent. I watched him for a time before taking another step. He looked deep in thought, studying a sketching of lines over papyrus. Aranwen crouched with his back to me, on his haunches, thighs to calves. He stoked the growing fire. Decorations of mismatched armor and weapons hung from the sweet smelling walls, nodules of sap illuminated the space.

'Welcome to Shimmer Root.' Elren pushed past me and started for Milkar. The initial shock of being here didn't subside until Elren was already halfway across the chamber.

When I began the walk towards Milkar, I took slow strides. 'Milkar.' It came out just a mumble, a whisper only heard by the creaking insects.

Milkar stood over the table with the papyrus scroll uncurled open, pinned in its place with knives on opposite ends. His focus was absolute. A new light danced about my brother.

Aranwen was the first to notice me, his earlier preoccupation put on pause with the sight of me heading towards our older brother. 'What in the divine's essence are you doing here?'

'I couldn't tell you...' I looked at Elren. 'I—'

'Leila?' Milkar finally looked up the scroll. 'Leila, what are you doing here?'

'I...' The words became lost to me, then like a river breaking freedom of its dam, the words exploded from my mouth. 'I was training at Mother's field when I decided that I didn't want to do the same monotonous thing every day. I wanted to find the strength for Father's respect my own way. I don't know. I saw this bird. I saw that it could do whatever it wanted. There was this emerald. I just took it as a sign. But I just ran. I wanted to forget everything, so I ran just so I felt like I was the leader of my own path and that no one else controlled what I did in life. I ran and ran and ran until I reached Elden Root. I wanted to be sure that I controlled my actions alone and not Father, not our dead Mother, and certainly not by the people who judged me every day for what I couldn't accomplish. I hate it, Milkar! You don't understand because you and Aranwen there are so talented, I don't see why Father wants me to be so strong, what can I do? I don't want to join the Ranger Guard, I want to find the strength and protect Valenwood my own way! I don't want any of it! So, I found Elren,' I squinted at the boy, 'no, he stole from a bow merchant, they just blamed me, so I ran some more until I ran into Elren again, but he said he recognized my eyes and that he knew both you and Aranwen! So, with nothing else to do but be captured, I escaped with him. He said you would explain to me why he knew you, and why were you hanging around the likes of him,' I pointed at Elren, 'he has a nice smile but he's too damn difficult to figure out. Is he a good guy or is he a thief that wants to rob me blind?'

The outburst left me panting and heaving for breath. Milkar just stared into my eyes, not an expression on his face—not even a wrinkle to gauge his reaction by.

Milkar glanced at Elren. He curled away at the look and pretended to stoke the fire. 'What happened?'

'It's true what she said,' Elren said. 'Snagged a bow from the old Fletcher.'

'See?' I silently thanked Elren.

'That doesn't explain why she's here.'

Milkar's dismissal of me put a cold punch in my gut.

I took a step back. 'Is it not a good thing that I'm here, brother?' A deep awareness brushed over me. The number of weapons and armor, my brother, being armed to the teeth, it all didn't make sense to me. This place felt like a war room.

Milkar's face softened at that. 'No. It isn't. But you are safe here, Leila. Not welcome, but safe.'

'I... I'm sorry. I—'

Milkar ran a hand through his hair. 'I didn't want you to find out about it this way.' He took a knife from the table. 'You're a strong girl, but you wouldn't understand.'

'Wouldn't understand?' I inquired. 'That you're...you're some type of thief? Criminal? Of course, I wouldn't understand!'

Milkar cocked his head to the side. 'I found this place about two years ago, Leila. Shimmer Root, she's called,' he said, gesturing to the large, cavernous chamber. It was better to call it a grove. These Graht-Oaks carried worlds of their own inside of their bellies.

'Why,' I began, 'Why did you need such a place? What are you hiding from? What are you keeping a secret?' It was many questions that asked one thing, but I thought he'd be able to give me a better enough answer for them all.

Milkar let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning back onto the table. Staring into those emerald eyes, we shared. 'I have a vision,' He said simply. 'This province, Valenwood, is plagued by a disease and I want to become its cure.'

Valenwood wasn't a place devoid of evil, but I never thought that I would hear those words come from my brother's mouth. He twirled the dagger in his hands in a skillful display, contemplating his next words.

'Excuse me if I sound a tad bit suspicious, but how do you plan to be its cure?' I asked, incredulously.

'Crime, corruption, the evils of Men, Mer, and Beastfolk... I'll bring all of it to its knees. Happenings are going on, Leila. Things that you wouldn't understand.'

'Humor me.'

Milkar smiled softly and shook his head. 'I often try so hard not to underestimate you. You're going to go so far, Leila.' His smile dissipated on a face of resoluteness. 'Our current goal is to work against these forces and drive them out of Valenwood once and for all. By doing that, we need to keep them away from Mother's power.'

'Mother's power? You mean the Ghost Bow?'

'The _Ghost Flame_.' Milkar nodded. 'The shape of a bow was one of many utilizations of the spell.'

I shook my head, trying to find some way to make sense of these revelations. 'Well, okay. Why not allow the Ranger Guard or the Dominion to handle this? Why do you have to?'

Finally, Aranwen came to the conversation and placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Leila, we all know how much trust can be put in the Dominion and the people they control. Milkar and I would have joined the Ranger Guard in the first place, just like Father asked of us.' Aranwen smirked with a grimace. 'Something he's still bitter about, but something happened, we can't go around trusting anybody.'

'What about—'

'We're Ara's children, Leila. You, Aranwen and I are something that doesn't come around often. We are capable of anything.'

'I still don't get it!' I cried. 'All of this sneaking around. What for? If you're trying to be heroes, then why do you need to sneak around in this Graht-Oak tree at night? How are you going to cure Valenwood or whatever?

'Take a seat.' Milkar nodded towards stones laid to make a stone pew. I did so while Milkar sat in front, eyes full of resolve. 'It isn't easy to tell you this, Leila. I know Rollyn has taught you to fight and kill if need be. He honed your skills enough so that when you take the initiation test into the Ranger Guard, you will pass with flying colors. In the time you were gone, you learned about the world; its blessings and its beauties—all of it.'

He stood up tall. 'But what I'm about to tell you will change your views on your brother and me.'

'I want to create an organization to regulate this crime and corruption. I will be at the forefront of it, and I will sit on a throne and rule Valenwood's underground.'

Words began to bubble on my tongue, but with no way to express them but to let the question pile in my mind, I stood there in silence. The silence was never a cure for shock, merely a byproduct of someone lost in translation. Without asking of anything about thrones and possible madness, I decided to challenge his logic. 'You mean _end_ crime, brother. How could you regulate by being a leader of crime?'

Milkar rustled my hair like he's done many times before despite my protest. 'Getting rid of Valenwood's criminal population is impossible, Leila. For anywhere it is impossible. The mortals in charge will always look to the next mercenary, thief, or assassin.'

'You plan to be a sword for hire? Is that it?'

'No, Leila. I plan to end the tyranny without being paid to kill anyone, but there are others who would be against me, I don't intend to back down from them. The Aldmeri Dominion and others want to rape Valenwood of its identity, its culture, I won't let them.'

'What about you, Aranwen. Do you share this "vision"?'

Aranwen sighed and nodded slowly. 'I opened my eyes to what was happening in the shadows. I know it's not of me. I'd rather sit around in taverns and tell jokes, make people laugh, and swoon women. But I can't let the injustice occur, not while I'm alive.'

I nodded towards Elren. 'What's his story?'

'It's a good thing you're still seated, Leila. The things you're about to hear will not hold over well.

My brothers called it the night of tears.

Circa one year ago, Milkar said. It rained because it often rains here in Valenwood, but the essence of evil mixed with that rain. One year ago, the climax of something that my brothers had been pursuing since the night I was born had unfolded in the shadows.

Milkar can fight. As a matter of fact, he was one of the best fighters I've seen besides Tutor Rollyn and Father. So, to hear him enter a situation where death was a possibility didn't surprise me one bit.

"Arrogance," Tutor Rollyn once said, "can be a weapon and folly. So as long as you feed it to your confidence and let it shield you from hesitation when fighting mortals that could kill you in a beat of a heart."

Perhaps it was arrogance that led Milkar that night or my brother's resolve or both.

The Aldmeri Dominion deemed the Green clans of Valenwood a nuisance to their regime. A plan to eradicate all wild Bosmer following the Greenpact was put into play by the King of Alinor and his generals. No one knew about this—not father and his friend, the Silvenar.

The Tam'Akar, the best the Thalmor had to offer were committing crimes under our noses. They were an elite unit of Inquisitors that were tasked with the gruesome deed of purging my people. They killed thousands of my brethren, one clan after the other. Milkar decided against going into detail of that night, but what he told me was that Elren was a part of a tribe targeted by these Tam'Akar. He's been with them ever since, living here in Shimmer Root.

'I had no idea,' I said as Milkar finished.

'Course you didn't, Leila, but it's not something you needed to be concerned about.' Milkar stood to his feet. 'But luckily few do know, and they're doing something about it.'

'There is? Who?'

'That will be answered in due time, my sister.' Milkar moved over towards his table, pressing his hands on the papyrus. 'What you have to ask yourself is what do _you_ want to do about it?'

'Join the Ranger Guard, fulfill Father's wishes under his iron fist, or follow a path you forge on your own?' Aranwen stepped towards me. 'Whatever it is, we will respect it.'

'I'm supposed to be the one that would take my Mother destiny, continue it until the Divines find me fit to join them. It's been my path since I was only five.' I shook my head. 'I don't know what I want, but I know that whatever Father has in store for me, he needs to cram it where Aetherius can't see.'

Aranwen chuckled.

'Mother embodied all that was light here in Valenwood,' I said. 'To know that my childhood was taken from me because I am to be the prodigy that takes her place in the light? No! I don't want to live like that! I don't want to be someone that people look up to in parades, have statues carved in my likeness; I don't want any of it!'

My eyesight began to blur, but I blinked away the tears that threatened to roll down my cheeks. 'I want to protect my home and my people, that I know for sure. But I want to do it _my_ way.'

At that moment, it felt as if I met my brother's eyes truly for the first time. His emerald pupils were like two flecks shining behind cracked doors pouring green moonlight. I stood up tall, back straightened with thick resolve. This night, I have felt more alive than in the fight pits, than in the thickness of the jungle's wilderness, than anything I've ever felt before. Whatever exhilaration overcame me, it was intoxicating.

'Teach me,' I said.

Milkar's eyebrow went up at that.

'Teach me everything you know.'


	3. Campfire

_Fires in Valenwood are illegal. Fire salts, Guar Fat, and Auroch keratin burn safer and longer than anyone's wood._

* * *

 _Chapter 3: Campfire_

'Rollyn taught you how to fight, how to survive, and how to think for yourself. I can conclude you're a capable warrior, can't I?'

My brother judged me by the look I wore and turned his gaze back towards the road. A torrential downpour beat down on the shady roof of the forest, sounding of a million armored men charging into battle. Water pooled high above our heads and fell in gradual waterfalls across the vast roof. The brightness of Y'ffre's Light dazzled the water falling towards the forest floor like falling streams of twinkling starlight. We stood in the shelter of a falling archaic bough, long enough to build a street over. If you wanted to spy on the ground, the tree's branches were too high up, it's best you find yourself a root. Any would suffice. Only occasionally you'll find yourself lucky enough to find a branch that has fallen from the tower-tall trees.

Thunder pounded in the skies above, the blast of noise coming down throughout the forest like a beating drum.

It's been two months since the start of a new life; a new destiny in the making for myself, led by own two feet.

The cart moved at a slow pace, dozens of them. An entire caravan of ingenuous Khajiit goading down a single road through the thick, unforgiving jungle. Down there somewhere my target awaited me.

We've trailing them for the better part of two days, skulking in the shadows, high above the trees. The Khajiit folk were a crafty people. Their formations left no blind spots to commence on with the job. My training was true, and Milkar said I've shown more promise than he ever did when it came to thievery.

This was all apart of his grand plan. "The cure of Valenwood," he called it. I entrusted myself to his training. And by the divines, I was good at it. Learning was about taking one fact and weighing it against what you already know. Sometimes it meant completely emptying your mind of anything you've already learned just to relearn it.

'Take this.' He handed me a short dagger the size of two hands.

'What for?'

'You see the tall Khajiit? The armored ones with the big swords?'

I nodded. And sure enough, the Suthay-Raht were formidable. They wielded swords that were heavier than me and twice my size.

'They'll cleave you in two if need be,' Milkar said. He pulled his cloak closer about him. 'You can resign if you want.'

'No,' I told him. 'I want to do this.'

Milkar nodded in approval. 'The Khajiit are known for their superior smell, hearing, and sight in the darkness. The only reason we haven't been caught as of yet is that the storm persisted for so long. We strike once camp is made.'

I watched the caravan snake along the trail. Iron-armored Suthay-Rahts were as intimidating as you'd think. That and the fact they road upon their Pahmar-Raht and Senche brethren. I took a deep breath. I trained for several years in all manner of combat from the age of five. I've been tested and tried in every aspect of survival and been in more than one encounter of death. This was but another test to my metal.

It seems as if my life has always been about tests.

Finally, the caravan came to a halt. The Khajiit pitched their tents under cover of protruding roots and the large underbrush. The cloaks made my target hard to pinpoint, but when I finally got to see who it was, it put a stop in my heart. Not who my target was, but by who protected him. 'Are you feckin' kidding me?'

Milkar hopped onto a lower root-wall, moving like a ghost against the shadow.

Fires burst to life below. An offense against the forest, but with the Dominion in charge, the laws that made our culture rich here in Valenwood slowly dwindled away from Altmerish bureaucracy. The Khajiit scrambled until they completed their camp.

Thunder roared in the skies above, coming down through the trees like a muffled beat.

'Are you ready?' Milkar asked.

'Yes,' I lied. I couldn't say it was fear the gripped me. I didn't do fear, never had. I wanted the high this job would provide me, but it was remorse that would stay my hands.

I hopped down onto the forest floor some distance away. The shadows masked me in its dark veil, the storm provided the mist from the Khajiit's keen eyes, and the rain masked my scent. I prayed to the gods that the Beastfolk would stay to their dance and song long enough to complete my task. I clung to the darkness, a silhouette against the bioluminescence of Y'ffre's Light.

My timing had to be accurate. What did Milkar say about sneaking? A natural swiftness of movements, to be unseen within the seen. Passed the outskirts, I pushed in closer keeping my eyes peeled and ears twitching. Boots and feet sloshed in the mud; Khajiit sang the tunes of their people and danced the exotic motions only found in their jungles and deserts.

 _Take your time. Move slow, but with hustle._ I could hear Milkar's words in my mind as if he whispered them in my ear beside me.

Each root I rounded yielded another group of Khajiit, their moon sugar induced culture making it easier to sneak by them. Finally, I approached the tent holding my target within. All clear so far. I whipped out my dagger and cut away at the tattered cloth. A single candle illuminated the space, and I'd hoped _he_ was elsewhere, because if _he_ were here, then I'd be dead.

My target laid on a low straw cot, sleeping away. I let a small breath of air escape from me. The slow beat of moisture against the tent told an exaggerated tale of the storm outside, yet the Bosmer before me laid sound asleep. A dark robe and grey cloak hung from the tent lining above him. I withdrew a small rag and a vial from my pockets and soaked the rag with its contents.

'Have happy dreams,' I said placing the damp rag over the mer's face.

Making quick haste, I quickly dug into the pockets of his robes and brandished a small book.

I think it was then when the anxiety became full-blown panic. The fire came in a roar of heat and blinding light, blowing away everything in its wake. The Khajiit's songs became cries for help. The flame vacuumed the entire dwelling into its belly, burning away anything that shielded me from being caught. I looked up to see everywhere else in the same condition. Giant fireballs rained in from the unknown, crashing to the ground and blanketing the dirt and life with flame and char. Nothing could withstand its power.

I felt the sudden _whoosh_ of someone behind me, and arms wrapped me in an embrace.

'Quiet,' Milkar whispered and dragged me back behind a root wall. The fires still fell.

The jingle and jostle of Khajiit warriors resounded around the camp. Fireballs blasted from the shadow and across the camp smacked into the warriors, instantly turning them into heaps of char.

The ensuing chaos continued to unfold, and no answers were found in Milkar eyes. A Khajiit Suthay-Raht stopped his run and tilted his head to where Milkar and I hid. His eyes were lost in confusion. For the beat of a second, he opened his mouth to say something, and I reached for my dagger. Before he could form the first word, a fireball took him away.

I gasped, turning my head to Milkar's chest because I couldn't fight off the fear. 'We should go,' I said. 'We should go now.'

'We can't,' Milkar replied, the frantic in his eyes.

'Why the void not?'

'Stay silent, sister,' he whispered. 'Look.' He nodded towards the center of the camp.

Amongst the burning and dying stood a hooded mer. There was no mistaken those robes anywhere. That ornate trim and folded, double-breasted style gave it all away. The Thalmor agents of the Aldmeri Dominion showed no remorse, but this was a different kind of horror. The Altmer that stood so calm amidst the chaos was no ordinary Thalmor agent. His robes didn't brandish the usual brass eagle, but instead the head of a dragon crowned by the sun, and they were blacker than black.

As the fires danced around his silhouette, licking but not biting, he stepped forward. A nasty looking sword in his right hand. I knew that metal—blacker than night but for the red hue pulsating like an evil heart. It's said that the Daedra used a twisted form of metal that is alien to Tamriel. Thousands of years ago before the first empires of men or mer, mortals replicated this metal to harness its powerful attributes. By taking ebony forged in the hottest fires and cooling it in fresh blood, you can recreate Daedric weapons. You should not reckon with the Thalmor, it could spell your death.

The Thalmor agent glanced around the camp, searching for something or someone. Perhaps it was the man I'd been looking for earlier. The Altmer's yellow eyes gleamed through the veiled darkness of his hood. The fire spell swirling his left hand vanished, leaving the camp broken and clambering.

A Khajiit guard, probably the bravest of them, charged the agent. He lifted his great sword high above his head and brought it down on the Altmer. It wasn't enough. The Mer merely deflected the Beastfolk's attack as if it were child's play. Frozen in shock, the feline mortal swung again only to be pierced with the end of the Altmer's sword. He died instantly.

'Who is that?' The words fell like a whimper.

'Aridiil the Nefarious,' Milkar answered. 'A captain in the Tam'Akar.'

'Aridiil?'

Milkar nodded. 'Look at him, Leila. Remember who he is. Remember what he's done here.

Sure enough, I'd recognized the name. Only if you'd been living under a rock, you wouldn't have heard the name Aridiil the Nefarious. One of Mother's comrades, the Altmer who stood at her side one hundred and forty years ago. My mother was apart of a group of seven powerful warriors that the people called the Circle of Seven. During the Oblivion Crisis, these seven warriors were brave enough to lead the remaining Ranger Guard and others against the horde of Daedra that invaded Valenwood. Mother, Father, Tutor Rollyn, and Aridiil are the only survivors of the Circle of Seven. After the closing of the Oblivion gates, Mother and Father married, and the others went their separate ways.

But the stories of the past diminish in the eyes of the future.

These were different times, and I am not my mother or my father, nor am I my tutor.

Milkar didn't want to leave, so I looked on as the Khajiit that populated this camp died and withered back into the forest. Dozens burning in the passing of a minute. Aridiil the Nefarious lived up to his name. The simple casting of a few spells took the lives of these Beastfolk as if they were simple insects caught in a storm. The anger swelled in thinking that these Thalmor monsters were the ones sitting on the throne in Falinesti. They violated all of what it means to live in Valenwood. I would not have any of it.

The need to leave left me entirely. Fear washing away and replaced with adrenaline and a want to do something quick.

Milkar brought me here to steal information on my target, but now I feel as if it were just a setup. A set up to witness this.

'I get it now,' I said drawing my hood over my head, masking my face in its darkness. 'This is the Tam'Akar you wanted me to see?'

Milkar nodded. 'These are the people who purged Elren's clan. There is something dark going on in Valenwood. No one will ever know what's happening, and the people in charge will deny all accounts.' He bit his lip. 'If we can't rely on the people sworn to protect us, then we must light a stronger fire against the winds that threaten us, our culture, and our roots.'

I've grown used to this new air around Milkar since that night Elren brought before him. Two months of him teaching me a new view of the world I lived in. This was his resolve in full force. It was an epiphany of sorts that made me realize who I'd need to be. Mother was the eagle the flew in the sun, and I was the raven that ushered in the night.

Aridiil raised his hand, a swirling mass of magicka swimming at the palm. Debris raised in the air at the command of his power and dropped away from the sleeping mer that was my target. The rag soaked with _resting tonic_ fell away, waking him. He was an old thing with wrinkles dressing his red face and streaks of grey running through his brown locks. His eyes were a smoky green, the color of grass labeled with the morning dew. He was a tall one but puny. He cowered away from Aridiil's approach, crawling back on his arse towards Milkar and me. Mud had caked him by the time Aridiil stood in front of him, pressing his daedric sword to his face.

'We can't let him die,' Milkar said. 'But we can't reveal ourselves to him. Father and Aridiil might not be friends anymore, but they still fight for the same side.'

'So, we just sit here and do nothing?'

Milkar's eyes wandered up towards the tree adjacent to the one over us. He knew something I didn't; he saw something coming.

My breath caught in my throat. I'd almost forgot that I'd seen him here before the excitement crashed the job. I trailed my eyes up the shining bark of the tree only to find a gleaming line flashing from shadows. The luminescent forest formed his tallness with a shadow, but for sure, Tutor Rollyn had been watching the whole thing play out.

Aridiil's smile was something sinister; an affront to his smooth face. The Altmer didn't seem like he grew old, his eyes were as yellow as sulfur and as sharp as glass. The High Elves lived longer than Bosmer, so their bodies aged slower. One hundred and forty years ago, he must have looked my age. But even so, I knew I stared into the eyes of evil. 'Ah. I knew you would be here, Augoth Thornbush. 'Aridiil said. 'I've been looking for quite some time.'

'Leave me alone!' The cowardly Bosmer squeaked. 'I don't have anything to do with that man anymore, I'm innocent!'

'I will be the judge of that.' Aridiil chuckled. 'You're wanted for treason against the Dominion and creating forbidden weapons.'

The old mer cried in the mud. 'It's not as if I had a choice! I was forced to work. Please!'

'I'm afraid that just isn't going to cut—'

'I don't know what this is all about, but I do know that killing innocents will not hold over well with the Countreeve or the Silvenar.' A voice from behind. Rollyn finally arrived. 'Step back.'

'Rollyn the Special,' Aridiil said, turning to face my old tutor. 'It's been a long time, friend.'

'We were comrades, Aridiil, but we were never friends. I didn't like you one bit.'

'Well, it doesn't matter, does it?' Aridiil sheathed his sword.

Rollyn scanned the camp, seeing the charred dead scattered about. Survivors had either fled or were hiding for the right time to seek their loved one's bodies.

'This is horrible, Aridiil. These people didn't deserve this.'

'I could count half a dozen crimes within the first few moments of coming here,' Aridiil shrugged. 'There are no lawbreakers allowed in a Dominion controlled Valenwood. The time for lawlessness is over.'

'The Tam'Akar worked with the same people this man is fleeing from. He is _my_ client, and I won't allow you to harm him.' Tutor Rollyn slid his quarterstaff down his arm and into his hands.

'You would fight me?' Aridiil smirked, but his eyes narrowed into something sinister. 'You know the implications.'

'You don't scare me, Aridiil. None of you Altmer murderers do.' Rollyn twirled his quarterstaff and fell into his fighting stance. A stance that I knew all too well.

Tutor Rollyn is the greatest fighter I've ever witnessed. During our adventures over the years, I have seen him beat down countless enemies. He had no equal. But something seemed wrong, there was hesitation in his step. Perhaps fighting a comrade would make it difficult.

'Are they going to fight?' I asked my brother.

'That doesn't matter.' Milkar pointed towards the other Bosmer hiding behind the underbrush. 'What did you grab from him?'

'This.' I produced the small booklet from my pocket.

Milkar took the thing with an analyzing eye. His face fell into disappointment when he finished.

'What is it?'

'We need to speak with Augoth Thornbush...but...' He looked back at the fight.

Tutor Rollyn stood before Aridiil in his fighting stance. Rollyn was the master at every weapon known to Nirn. Tutor Rollyn mastered every sword and every style of combat.

The rush was quicker than sound. A loud crack whipped above the storm's roar as Rollyn's gleaming quarter staff connected with Aridiil's sword which I didn't see him draw again. The next couple of counters were too quick. My mind couldn't process a fight at this level. These two were powerful and skilled enough to fight by my Mother's side during the Oblivion Crisis.

Rollyn ducked under a series of slashes forced out by Aridiil, came up with the speed of a young warrior instead of an old man and kicked Aridiil squarely in his chest. The Altmer stumbled back, slipping in the mud but managing to correct himself before Rollyn's next attack could take his life. Aridiil lit his free hand with the blue hue of lightning destruction magic. The tendrils of energy crackled with unavoidable speeds, attracting to a world soaked with water. If Rollyn was a master at weapons, then Aridiil was a master at destruction magic. His command over magicka knew no bounds—the best I've ever seen.

Rollyn managed to handle the first blast of the _Lightning Storm_ spell with his quarterstaff. The thing spun in a blur of gleaming moonstone, deflecting the power in all directions. Rollyn took the opportunity granted to him by the spell's charge time to counter. He was careful; he had to be. _Lightning Storm_ was a spell that can turn a mortal into a pile of ash at the beat of a heart. Rollyn smacked his staff into Aridiil's ribcage, sending him careening across the mud into a pile of burning debris. The impact must have broken the Altmer's bones, but I couldn't say for sure.

'Get out of there,' I whispered. 'Please.'

Aridiil emerged in a blast of unbridled magicka, sending mud scattering about. The Tam'Akar inquisitor was unharmed. The rain fell on him in waterfalls from the gathered pools above.

'Don't fuck with me, Rollyn. There are things bigger than your pride. For the safety of your province, I must see to the death—'

'Enough of your warped righteousness.'

Milkar pulled my face away from the sight, but I didn't want to look away. I didn't know how I felt about my old tutor fighting such a being. Whether I cared about Rollyn dying or not was different. I didn't like Tutor Rollyn, in fact, I never liked him during the years we ventured into the world together. But he was more of a father than my own. He taught me so much of the world and as much as I disliked him, it was never hate I felt. I didn't want to see him die.

'We have to go,' Milkar said.

'Wait, we can't...Rollyn.'

'We can't stay, Leila.'

'But—'

'Look.' Milkar pointed.

The man that we came here for had fled into the forest. His blackened form pushed into the dull glow of the trees and brush.

'You go! Let me stay. I can help Rollyn.' I pleaded.

'Leila.'

'Go!' I pushed Milkar away.

Milkar sighed. 'Don't let them see your face... and don't die.'

I pulled my cowl over the lower half of my face and nodded towards my brother. He left me with a touch on the shoulder and went after the old elf.

Rollyn was deflecting lightning blasts with his quarterstaff. Magicka can be fought with highly effective deflection, but once you tire, your chances of survival are slim. It occurred to me why Aridiil was known as "the Nefarious," but that wouldn't stop me. I met my match many times out there in the forest, but I've always managed to overcome it with Tutor Rollyn's help. He may have been a bastard, but he was there for me. I will be there for him.

I took my first step. Each one along the way, the dread in me only grew. I clasped the dagger Milkar had given me until my knuckles grew white. My head felt light, and I wondered if I made a mistake. Not just running towards two mortals that can kill me in the blink of an eye but following my brother's way into the shadows. My feet sloshed in the mud despite me trying to mask my approach.

Aridiil raised his hand to send another _Lightning Storm_. I took my dagger, point shining, and slashed at the Altmer's wrist. Blood splattered across my face as Aridiil reeled back, dropping his sword, and holding his hand.

I twirled the blade in my hand, changing from to an overhand to an underhand grip.

'Who—'

'Never mind it,' I said, balancing myself in the mud.

'What in the Oblivion have you done?' Aridiil hissed. 'I'll burn you to ash!'

Rollyn leaped, not allowing the chance to escape him. The end of his quarterstaff came straight down onto Aridiil. The sound of breaking glass echoed out like needles thrown to marble floor. A blue pane of energy formed amid the clash, deflecting Rollyn's staff as if he hit nothing. I gulped and darted in for another attack. This time I aimed to open his throat.

With all of Tutor Rollyn's teachings, I pounced like a cat and jabbed my dagger into his _ward_. I jumped off, leaving my dagger embedded in the shield's defense. Rollyn followed suit, hopping in midair and kicking the dagger further into the _ward_. This sent Aridiil careening. Spiderweb cracks expanded across the blue energy like a thrown stone to a window.

'Do it!' Rollyn called.

My Tutor tossed me his quarterstaff and knelt. I took the thing twirling it with its weight and hopped onto his lowered back. He propelled upward as I leaped as hard as my legs could allow me. I flew into the air, quarterstaff raised and brought it down onto the dagger's pommel. Aridiil's _ward_ shattered away, first like broken glass, then disappeared into nothingness. The dagger skidded away into the mud.

Still bleeding, Aridiil raised his hand in the air which put a pause on Rollyn's approach.

'Enough of this!' Aridiil's entire body began to spark with lightning.

'Get back!' Rollyn called out. I heeded his warning.

Tendrils of lightning thicker than my body ravaged across the expanse of the camp, leaving snaking black marks across the mud. Golden coils of magicka sowed his wound shut, and it disappeared as if it was never there. The lightning kept striking here and there, causing the stricken ground to sizzle and blacken with heat. I curled up behind a root wall until it was suddenly obliterated by Aridiil's lightning. In the wake of the destruction, stood an angry Altmer, his power overflowing.

Since the beginning of his fight with Rollyn, Aridiil has sent master spell after master spell ceaselessly. To do so would require a vast amount of magicka unheard of even in the magically attuned Altmer. This was what it meant to do battle with the warriors of the Seven. Rollyn showed me only some of the caliber needed. But in a death battle with one of the strongest mages I have ever seen, I didn't think it would be this desperate.

How? How was Mother stronger than these people? How was this considered a mortal's power?

I filled my lungs with my last breath as I stared into the yellow eyes of the Void. Those evil pupils overtook me in a trance. This was the end for me.

He raised his hand, and my world crackled like lightning.


	4. The World Underground

_We all make choices in life, but in the end our choices make us_

* * *

Chapter 4: The World Underground

Tutor Rollyn stood over me. His body sizzled with heat, and steam rolled off his tattered clothes. It was a direct hit.

'Why?'

Rollyn fell back, splattering in the mud. The whites of his eyes streaked with red. 'Why did you—'

I crawled to his side, feeling for a heartbeat. The heat of him burned my skin. 'You stupid old fool.'

Aridiil's blast had been aimed at me, yet Rollyn used his entire body to defend me. He didn't know that I was his pupil, and he still the killing blow. Perhaps being strong wasn't the only criteria needed to be a legendary warrior. Such sacrifice that I didn't think was possible for Rollyn.

Across from us, Aridiil dusted and smoothed his robes. Besides the mud staining his clothes, the Altmer was completely unharmed. Rollyn was no match for him. Alone, I was merely a nuisance; a fly to be squashed.

'Aridiil.'

'You're not going to make me ask who in the Oblivion you are, are you?' Aridiil watched me with a raised eyebrow.

'I'm the shadow that's going to take you down,' I said, smashing a fist onto my palm.

His curious face changed into one of confusion. 'Today you tried to obstruct justice. Not even children are above the law.'

'Fuck the law.'

'Little girl, I am afraid you misjudge the situation.' Aridiil shrugged. 'You can become a pile of ash, or you can seek a trial and be thrown in jail with your life intact. I'll even ignore the wound you dealt an agent of the Thalmor.' He shook his wrist.

I shook my head, glancing down at my tutor. 'You killed him. He was your friend and comrade, buy you just...killed him.'

A pang of guilt flittered across his golden-skinned face. 'It's unfortunate. However—'

Aridiil began looking around, his eyes scanning the carnage. Something got away from him. Perhaps he'd remembered something urgent, but the curves of his brow told a tale of something more of a concern to him than me. He turned quickly and began strolling away with haste. I tried moving to follow him, but something gripped me. I looked down to see Rollyn's hand tightening around my leg. The old bastard lived, but he didn't want me to challenge Aridiil. Not while he was in this state, not by myself.

'Let him go,' Rollyn rasped. 'This is just work for Aridiil the Nefarious. And there are bigger fish to fry than us.'

I let out an exasperated sigh.

When Aridiil disappeared into the forest, Rollyn sat up. He never looked so old, but the Bosmer's strength was something to behold. Taking on a master level destruction spell and surviving is a feat not to be taken lightly.

'Thank you for your help,' he coughed.

'My help? You nearly died. And all I did was anger him like an annoying insect.' I knelt beside my tutor.

'That doesn't matter,' he said. 'It's what you do that makes a hero.'

'Hero.' The word echoed in my mind.

'What's your name?'

I hesitated for a moment before blurting out, 'Raven.'

'Raven?' He coughed. 'Odd name. If you don't want to tell me your real name, I understand,' he coughed, 'I won't pry.'

I strolled over to his quarterstaff and retrieved it for him. He sat in the mud looking up at me with incredulous green eyes. I threw it at his feet. 'I have to go now.'

'Wait.'

I paused. 'What?'

'Heroes are not always the ones who walk in the light. You're still young and impressionable. Even the hidden roads can lead in the right direction.' A tired smile stretched his lips thin. 'You fight well, I bet whoever trained you would be proud.'

I considered his words for a long moment. The Tutor Rollyn I knew wasn't an oblivious elf. He saw through any rouse. But this was a part of Rollyn I never got to see. In the years leading up until now, he'd always been stern with an iron mentality. Like Father, but with a bit more compassion.

'Can you walk on your own?'

'With my staff, perhaps. You wouldn't happen to be able to heal me, would you?' Rollyn took up his staff, using it to pull himself upright. 'I give myself an hour or two before my heart stops.'

'No.' I answered him. 'No magical affinity.'

Rollyn fell into a coughing fit. 'Same... here.' He tried to smile but failed as a spasm of coughs ended with a palm full of blood. 'I have to go find my client if he isn't already dead.' The old wood elf shook his head.

'You should just go home,' I said firmly. I knelt back beside my tutor, hood and cowl still tightened about my face. I placed a water skin by his side, and he took it up gleefully.

'I can't, Raven,' he said in between sips. 'A job is a job.'

'You're right.' I nodded. 'I have to go now.'

I didn't want to leave him here. Not like this. But his suspicion grew with every moment I stood by his side. If Tutor Rollyn knew what I was doing, then, sure enough, he would tell my father in a heartbeat, and that would be the end of it. My Father would have Milkar, Aranwen, Elren, and I jailed without a moment's hesitation. So, I wasn't having it.

I gave Rollyn a sympathetic grin which he couldn't have seen. Rollyn nodded and gave me a smile of his own. He was strong, and I trusted him to be okay. The Rollyn I knew could take a beating.

I turned from him, walking through the scorched camp. Where there was once flourishing plant life rife with Y'ffre's bioluminescent life was now blackened earth and sloppy mud. I wished I'd been stronger, perhaps none of this would have occurred.

A family of Khajiit torn asunder in a matter of moments. By an Altmer without an ounce of remorse for mortal life. My mind wandered for the moments it took me to cross the deadened bodies to where the other Khajiit fled and if they were okay. No one was going to speak of the horror that unfolded here, and no one was going to talk of the battle that a master and his pupil fought. This was just the beginning. Harder fights would come, and I chose to be ready.

'Hey, Raven!' Rollyn called from behind. I was surprised he had the ability to raise his voice as much. 'You've got quite the stare.'

Rollyn's eyes drilled holes into me as if he was staring into my very soul. I turned and ran after my brother.

I stopped behind the base of a flowering Shadbush, the world spun in circles. Vivid images of myself a steaming pile of ash painted an alternate reality in my mind's eye. What could have happened and why didn't it happen. I fell to my knees. My dinner came up as chunks on the forest floor, mixing in a variant of different colors boiled in with the soft glow of the forest moss.

Two months ago, I'd resolved to follow my brother and view the world as he did. Since then, I've found myself privy to the concept. There was no amount of training that could have prepared me to meet such a monster—this Aridiil—I knew, however, that if I followed my Father, life would not have been so different. Death would come, and it would come whether glorified in the light, heralded as a hero, or in the shadow known as a criminal.

What mattered was that I was strong and that I can overcome the challenges presented on the path that I choose to follow. Because either way, the perils will always be there.

I found Milkar standing over the mage. Mud slickened all over the groveling old elf, looking weaker than a sickened man on his deathbed. Milkar's eyes glared like flawlessly cut emeralds through his hood and over his cowl, giving the mage nothing to identify him by. The brother I once looked at as a shining pillar of moral conscience lived with a dark shadow.

I made my first offense against Dominion law, and there was no going back. For Milkar, no one knew about his iniquitous persona. If it can be called as such. There's a light in his damaging goals. Milkar will be the Bosmer that brings forth a golden era in the future of Valenwood's denizens.

Milkar held the small booklet out in front him, detailing the contents within, running the point of his index finger over the scribbled lines on the page.

'Coded. Smart.' Milkar closed the booklet and handed it back to him. The old mage snatched it up.

'What do you want from me?'

'I know who you are, Augoth Thornbush. You work for the Thieves of the Wood.'

The name struck the cords of familiarity. Father had gone off about the criminals that plagued Valenwood on many of his dinner-table rants when he wasn't yelling at me. The Thieves of the Wood, a criminal organization that has increased its activity in the recent years. Bits and pieces of information gathered by the subconscious minds only formulating into a proper thought when in close relation to what's in the present, that was how I identified this "guild." The stories didn't yield tales blessed by the nature of Baan Dar. Murder and corruption, sex and scandals, and burglary and heists, the Thieves of the Wood was a name representative of a misfit clan of bandits.

Augoth's face drooped away in the low glowing light. 'It's not like I have a choice!'

Milkar shook his head solemnly. 'You always have a choice, Augoth.'

'Oh, yeah? You saw what happened over there. All that death because of me!' Augoth began looking every which way, still scared of what might come after him.

'Don't worry,' Milkar informed him. 'You're safe with me.'

'And who in the void are you?'

Milkar pulled away from his cowl and hood, revealing his face to the mage for a brief second.

You could always tell, in certain situations, who were the strong and who were the weak. The difference is as obvious as rock and water. The two elves stood apart from each other, both as different as the night is different from the day.

'I—' He paused. 'You're—'

'I just need to ask you a very simple question, Augoth. I know your predicament well, and I know you're in the midst of escaping their clutches.' Milkar reached into the Bosmer's robes and pulled off a sigil attached to a necklace with one swift pluck. I didn't realize what happened until Milkar held the thing to Augoth's face.

Another familiar aspect picked up by the subconscious mind: two daggers crossing the base of a Graht-Oak. A symbol that represented a ruling of sorts in Valenwood. Most likely claimed by the so-called Thieves of the Wood.

'A year ago, there was a certain Bosmer that helped attack a clan of Greenpact followers These Bosmer were a peaceful clan and distant cousins to the Thornbush clan of Enchanters. Naturally, these Bosmer were known as the _natural enchanters_ who practiced powerful enchantment magic without the need for an enchantment table.' Milkar stared into Augoth's eyes, making the old elf cower into a nearby root wall.

'No... No. No!' Augoth cried. 'It was those bastards that are after me; the Tam'Akar.'

'That's correct.' Milkar nodded, no disagreement in his posture. 'But, they had help. This Bosmer helped them. A thief.'

Augoth slumped to his knees, tears falling from his smoky green eyes.

'He burned hundreds of clansmen that night.'

Augoth nodded, tears streaming down his tanned face.

'Using a sword that _you_ enchanted.' Milkar helped the elf back onto his feet, shagging him by the neck and pulling him by his collar. He used gentle but firm tugs ensuring that Augoth knew he was being interrogated but by a friend, a comrade that will help him. 'I don't want to hurt you. I'm not the Tam'Akar or the Thieves of the Wood. You recognize who I am, don't you?'

'You're the Ambassador's son. You're _her_ son.' Augoth put on a face of recognition now. 'What do you want with me?'

Milkar had the man pressured yet feeling assured of his safety, his trust coming on as something needed. 'I want to decimate the Tam'Akar and tear down the Thieves of the Wood,' Milkar said. 'But I can't do that without the proper people on my side.'

'I can't.' Augoth began shaking his head, sweat glistening over his brow. 'I just can't do that.'

'You knew my mother.' The statement came in a raised voice. 'You made her capable of the power within her legends.' Milkar ceased the man's wrist and pulled away his gloves.

What was shown next was something grotesque. I reeled back, trying to keep what was left of my dinner in my stomach this time. Augoth's hands were distraught, seemingly beyond repair. Boils and bubbles filled with puss plagued the man's palm. Blood swam away from the wounds, and the smell of rot filled my nostrils.

'If you want Valenwood to remain the same province Ara High-Arrow protected then join me! Use your power to further my cause and together we can put an end to both Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood.' Milkar plea struck something within Augoth. 'You know I am the son of Faeden Lockharte and Ara High-Arrow of the Ghost Bow. You know what I am capable of.'

'I—I heard the stories of your formidable intellect.' Augoth stumbled. 'Please, you have to give me time to get away. They know where I am at, but the Tam'Akar has given me a chance to get away.'

'Careful how you handle Rollyn's sacrifice, old man.' I interjected. 'I don't know if he'll survive the night, and Aridiil is still coming for you. I suggest you make your choice soon.'

Augoth turned back to Milkar. 'Please.'

Milkar nodded and stepped away from the enchanter.

'Why are you letting him go if we need him?' I asked my brother.

'He'll be back soon.'

'I can go?' Augoth asked.

'Go,' Milkar said, gesturing with his hand. As soon as Augoth stood tall, Milkar stopped him. 'Remember enchanter. I am not your enemy; I am your friend. Seek me out in the forest of Grahtwood. I will see it that you are safe.'

Augoth didn't take a moment's hesitation, dusted himself off, and bounded off into the forest. The glow of the flora against his robes only lasted but for a moment until he disappeared into the night.

A took a deep breath and let it out slinking to my knees. The night didn't feel real as if I was dreaming the entire thing. Milkar turned to me as I tried to keep the elation of battle from my hands.

'Are you unharmed?'

I nodded. 'Mostly.'

'You did good,' He said, taking a knee.

'Is this it?' I asked.

'Not always. You'll break into some homes, pick some locks, and snatch some purses.'

I laughed nervously. 'And occasionally do battle with legendary warriors from Mother's age.'

'I believe in you, Leila.' He offered me a hand, and I took it.

'And I'm here for you, brother. I have seen firsthand the evil that is voyaging through our home now. If there is anyone that can purge Valenwood of this evil, it's you.' My words were full of resolve. I felt it in my heart. I knew deep down that Milkar would be the one. 'Let me stand by your side, Milkar. I will clear the path to your ascension to become the king of the underground as a Raven clears the path for the night to overtake the world.'

Milkar grinned and pulled me to my feet. 'So, let it be known.'


	5. Mentor and Apprentice

**A/N: Thank you to those of you that have left a review and those of you that have read up so far. I really loved writing these chapters, opening my depiction of Valenwood, and writing culture on the fly. This story and the rest of the trilogy will be written pre-Skyrim. The first two books are written pre-Great War (Aldmeri Dominion vs. Mede Empire).**

 **Remember, a lot of the lore has subtle little twists that I created. Also, if you haven't captured Valenwood's vastness from this story-go to your nearest forest or forested area and imagine the trees as large as skyscrapers.**

 **Thanks for reading again and leave a review!**

* * *

 _There was a rumor floating around that Tutor Rollyn defeated a weakened Daedric Prince on his own. From the years I had to train under him, I wouldn't put it past the old bastard._

* * *

Chapter 5: Mentor and Apprentice

Tutor Rollyn has crossed my mind many times in the following days. He was, after all, the Bosmer who trained me at an early age into a fledgling warrior. I wished he was at my side; I wished that I could look up his wiry frame and into his eyes and seek the wisdom the hid behind them. We walked down a beaten path smothered with dimly lighting moss, soft under my feet. Each of our steps left glowing footprints as the moss echoed the path of our feet. The glowing broad leaves and frills of the coppice, hinging and reaching onto the narrow road, clawing at our leathers and cloaks. It was always cloaks draping over leathers, always hiding our face so that the common man, elf, Beastfolk wouldn't recognize us.

Traveling with Rollyn for the best part of my life taught me more than just combat and fighting. I didn't have a view of the world at six springs old; no child should. The only thought in my head for the first months was to throttle my father at the neck until his eyes rolled to the back of his head. That bounced around my head for a while until Rollyn replaced him as a parent figure after a short time in the wilds. It was rough, needless to say, being the pupil of a warrior as great as my mother and father. But Father wanted the best out of my potential, and Rollyn wanted to deliver on a promise he made to my mother before she met her end. To see him bloodied and struggling that night tugged on some esoteric love for the rough, old man. At any rate, I wished he was still here to walk with me.

Not to say that the company I keep now was worse than Rollyn, in fact, it was an improvement from a croaking old man that always had something wise spilling from his lips.

Elren walked at my side, his footsteps making but a whispering contact with the ground underneath him. Quiet at foot and quiet at the mouth, the half human, half Bosmer boy, barely spoke a word ever. But his laugh, when he _did_ laugh, that smile—the way he could melt my innards with his perfect mouth— _that_ spoke volumes. Elren's eyes were brown, unlike every pure Bosmer's whose eyes were always any shade of green, his identity as a half-breed isn't something you can easily hide. Like my Tutor, he only spoke when he had something important to say; Elren never wasted a word.

Aranwen kept up quick strides in front of us with his long legs. His long, deep brown cloak, dressed and draping over his shoulders, whipped in the humid night air. He kept his hood off as he says he's the less known child of Ara next to Milkar and me. Which kind of fit the Aranwen bill. As a middle child, he's often overlooked; in the case of the Lockharte family, that isn't a terrible thing. Don't let the goofy laugh fool you, Aranwen was as sharp as a whip. As smart as Milkar, in a sense, without the shrewd. I respected Aranwen, he's my brother and my protector. Also, he can be terrifying in a fight.

Aranwen withdrew one of his Tanto swords and began pinning away shrubberies larger than him.

'Akiviri steel?' I inquired, quickening my strides.

Aranwen raised an eyebrow. 'Rollyn taught you a good deal, eh?'

'Enough.'

My brother chuckled, looking down at me with his emerald eyes. 'Tamrielic steel. Akiviri style.'

'Rare here in Valenwood, people might mistake for authentic... and try to rob you.'

'They have,' Aranwen said, 'they've regretted.'

I smirked up at my brother, and he winked an emerald-flecked eye.

We strode the long path to the city of Silvenar. A city home to the spiritual center of the Bosmer. I've visited there many times before, but never in a capacity to walk the golden moss-covered streets or the glowing globes that patrol at night. Silvenar was truly the garden of the garden. Even home sung into being by magicka-attuned Bosmer home singers. A truly remarkable feat of infrastructure, despite living in massive Graht-Oak cities. Silvenar was home to _the_ Silvenar, our spiritual leader. Tutor Rollyn said that the Silvenar knew how the people of Valenwood felt, he could feel what we feel. His grand palace was surely a sight to view, never actually entered in there, but at a distance, it looked like a flower embedded in a waterfall. A really large flower; a single petal reached as far as a city district would.

But what business we had in Silvenar completely eluded me. It eluded us. Milkar had only asked us, or I should say tasked us, to meet on the outskirts of the beautiful city, just on the fringes of the jungle. None of my traveling companions cared to ask. Either they weren't willing, or they simply decided to follow Milkar based on blind faith. I knew my brother to be an inspiring leader, or at least have the capacity for it, but I didn't want to blindly follow him. I wanted to make sure this was a path chosen by me and me alone.

'Why Silvenar, anyway?' I didn't bother keeping the annoyed tenor from my voice.

Aranwen smirked. 'Didn't you know Milkar has friends outside of us three? Our brother has lived a life worth living. Although I'm not as new to this as you are, I can assure you I don't know _all_ the workings inside brother's head.' We went on for a few more moments before Aranwen spoke again. 'There's someone here that Milkar puts his complete trust in. He's going to help us.'

I shook my head. A couple of months, and yet, it's still unfathomable that I was just discovering who these two I call my brothers were. What they did in the shadows. Yes, sure, I was away for most of a decade, but the image and story I'd formulated in my mind of my brothers were different. I saw them as up, and coming heroes to Valenwood, perhaps Milkar would become a politician after serving time in the Ranger Guard, and Aranwen would become a traveling warrior. Thieves, on the other hand, was on the far opposite of the spectrum. In a sense, we all desired to protect Valenwood, only it wasn't in the way Mother would. To become criminals to regulate criminals is like saying we're fighting fire with fire. To actually try and walk in Mother's shoes would be equivalent to mental suicide. Mother's intellect and battle prowess slapped together with her devotion for Valenwood were too far of a bar set for her children. And so, we've decided to mingle in the shadows, her shadow. Like the roots to the tree that is Ara of the Ghost Bow.

Mother was powerful, and the people around her were powerful as well. During the Oblivion Crisis, if you weren't strong, you died. It was as simple as that. Those who couldn't fight just died—slaughtered by the hordes of Daedra that poured from the molten guts of the Deadlands.

I'm glad this sudden turn of events happened to me, by faith, I wasn't to be Mother's substitute; a false imitation forcibly forged with a fake devotion towards the role as "hero." I wouldn't have been surprised if they would've told me to find six other capable warriors to stand at my side.

However deep Milkar may be in this whole "ruling the underground" mission, he will see loyalty from me. I believed in his vision, I will absolutely help him in this case. But I'm pursuing my own vision, my own path. That night, a raven revealed it to me, but it's up to myself to acknowledge this destiny. A thief, a criminal, a warrior, or all, it didn't matter what I'd become as long as it's my own choosing.

Our path led us edging a cliff that dipped down into the city like a crater, giving us a view of the jeweled beauty of Silvenar. The palace, as big as the city itself, flowered out the mountainous wall of the Flourian Falls. Three grand waterfalls roared from under six massive sepals, falling into the bay below. The petals grew up and outward, a hundred feet towards the fire-kissed dawn, and bathed the streets and Graht-Oak dwellings with a pink neon glow. Red filaments veined each petal and ended with small pods I figured was Anthers. To think that the palace was large enough that it can hold the entire one hundred thousand population of the city.

The rest of the city started beyond the bay and waterfalls. The Graht-Oak dwellings were small, huger than the average tree, but smaller than Shimmer Root. There were about a hundred Graht-Oaks gathered in this grove, each a place of wonder for the Bosmer. From the cliff's edge, we could see the soft glowing street covered with a mutedly lit, golden moss still visible in the twilight. Even this early in the morning, people scoured the city and the Graht-Oaks like hungry termites, each of them with their own lives. It was as if they were going but not going anywhere all the same.

'Are we heading in?' I asked pointing down towards the sprawl of the city.

'Where do they usually keep their executions?' The sun peaked over the palace that sat to the north-east, forcing Aranwen to shield his eyes as he scanned.

'Executions?'

'Main gate.' Elren answered knowingly.

Flowers the size of mammoths sprouted in large beds surrounded the outer wall of the city. We traveled down the cliff side, perfumed by the sweet, nectar-glistening buds. The top of the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving fire-orange arms gripping over a violet sky like lighting oil aflame over black waters at night. The flowers hung like old men who've lost their posture years ago, painting the underbrush roads with a soft indigo light. Fires for practical use in the jungle were banned by Bosmeris law, but the forests always provided whatever we needed, including light.

The Aldmeri Dominion wished to abolish these laws.

With the Dominion's rule leeching on Bosmer traditions, executions were becoming far more frequent, especially for petty crimes such as thievery. Since the earliest century of the fourth era, things like thievery were easily punishable by death. That's where the corruption lies—for those who knew someone, either involved with the Dominion or carrying a lot of coin, they wouldn't face execution. The void binds it, they wouldn't even face prison. But Milkar was going to stop that; _we_ were going to stop it.

'They execute people at the main gate to pose as an example,' Elren said, a new seriousness modeled over his face.

'Who are they going to make an example of?' I asked him.

'A Nightblade of the Thieves of the Wood.' His deep brown eyes sparkled under each flower light.

'Why,' I looked up at my brother, 'are we going to save a Nightblade?'

'Like I said, little sister,' Aranwen said, raising a finger, 'your brother does not tell me everything.'

It's not some unknown thing, that word: Nightblade. If you haven't been living under a moss-carpeted rock. Nightblades do not limit themselves to any faction. In fact, a Nightblade is a class of fighter you see across Tamriel. These Nightblades are magically attuned, shadowy, and dangerous. They use magicka to command their secretive endeavors. You can find them in almost all factions—including a thieves' guild.

But the only thing that concerned me was why did Milkar tell us to attend the execution of this particular Nightblade. You always come across news of the hanging of these people for some crime they've done. It wasn't a new problem.

'Milkar knows him.' Elren said finally. 'Personally.'

I studied Elren's body language. The knots of muscle under his dark-green cloak tensed in balls. His sand-tanned face grimaced in the low light of the underbrush. Since meeting him, Elren simplicity evolved into complexity. The fact that the boy chose to stay silent for hours stacked on hours of the day should really concern people. But that's just how he was. Everything about him just leaked silence. It's what gives him his simple persona, and yet, there's something deep and brooding looming behind those deep brown eyes. That's what makes him so complex.

'Do you know him?' I asked warily, trying to figure the boy out.

Elren nodded. 'He was there that night,' a small frown tugged at his mouth, 'with Milkar.'

That night, Elren was referring to, was the night one year ago where Milkar's resolve became the hard-hitting wall it was. That night was when Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood massacred Elren's clan. You see, they were a known to hold secrets. Like a bank of thoughts. They were the chosen few to hide Mother's _Ghost Flame_. Milkar knew about it, he did everything he could, but in the end, he couldn't save many.

Father and the other Dominion officials had no intentions of coming after their attack dogs, the Tam'Akar, and the criminal guild that committed the atrocity. Instead, they blamed it on the absence of law within the clan. Elren's clan were Greenpact Bosmer and lived by the old ways of the Bosmer. The Thalmor made it clear to everyone in Valenwood that following the Greenpact was an affront to civilized elves. So, the followers of the Greenpact made it clear that they wouldn't stop. And that's when the purging began. With our very own officials turning a blind eye, there was nothing anyone else can do. Until now.

I placed a hand on Elren's shoulder, and I half expected him to shrug it off, but he kept it there. I was glad for it too.

'Is this Nightblade a friend or foe?' I asked Elren.

'That depends on how well he remembers his arrest.' The answer didn't come from Elren but from a looping root arching from one side of the road to the other.

The three of us stared up towards the green roof capping the lower forest. Two legs dangled from a thick root twice my body width. Milkar slipped from the top and landed before us. We'd finally made it to the road leading towards the main gate. It was as if the gate's causeway was locked in perpetual spring, lading with a plethora of perfumed flowers. The golden moss flourished ever so brightly, carpeting the cobblestone straight into the city. Only we weren't going into the city, our journey ended just before the gates.

'Not even I know what's going on, Milkar. You can't just have people trudge around Valenwood and not tell them what's going on.'

'You're right, Aranwen.' Milkar said raising a finger. 'What's going to happen is that we're going to save this man, help him escape, and then have him join us.'

'That's foolishness.' Aranwen's concern wrote deep lines across his sharp-edged face. 'A Nightblade from the Thieves of the Wood. What are you thinking?'

'I'm thinking that he's no longer a part of the Thieves of the Wood. I'm thinking that he isn't too angry about me leaving him to the bottom of a ground cell.' Milkar spread his arms wide open. 'I was out here doing some digging on what they'll be doing to him.'

'Who _is_ this man, Milkar? We all want to know.' I folded my arms across my chest and began tapping my forearm.

Milkar smiled. 'He's a man whose only promise to Nirn is a lie. I approached him, Leila, on the night of your birth. I approached him because I knew that Valenwood was going to be forever changed with the death of my mother.' He turned his back to us, the sun's morning glow brightening his emerald-jeweled eyes. 'This elf is my mentor.'

* * *

'He doesn't seem like a person who could teach you about thievery,' I said. 'Did he teach you how to get caught as well?'

The wryness of Milkar's smile put insecurity in approaching this job. I couldn't have known what he was hiding, or what happened between him and this man a year ago. I didn't feel right about it and was probably going to regret even coming up here from Grahtwood. 'Whatever he believes now doesn't matter. We want him on our side as soon as possible. Things are going to happen, and he'll be able to help us a great deal.'

'Things,' Aranwen mimicked, twisting his face to impersonated Milkar's more serious persona.

Milkar sighed. Elren and I chuckled.

Silvenar's gates were a scrawl of trees, grown in like a maze of subservient walls ready to move at whoever's wish. Running alongside the inner side of the maze was long lines of pitched tents, carts, and stalls, some as big as a house. Silvenar itself didn't have a market within. Instead, merchants camped just outside the beautiful streets, by the gates. As if a few merchants would have disturbed their spiritual health. Silvenar or the Silvenar, no one knows which came first: our spiritual leader with his wisdom and premonitions, or the city with its beauty and bounty. To me, he was just another Bosmer politician, and this place, just another city.

The new sun chased away the morning mist from the forest floor, leaving the day bright and promising. Just before the gate, to the side of the road, was the happenings of a crowd. When there is a crowd, then that means something was happening. I found myself walking at Milkar's side then passing him altogether.

Before the mass of bodies, all locked in their habitual murmur and rumor spreading was some ivory-made gallows. The structure was cut from the bone and skin of massive creatures, an old thing that the Dominion didn't cease using even with the repeal of the Greenpact laws. Perhaps it gave the people a sardonic remembrance. However, for Bosmer, it's an ordinary site. We were used to seeing animal bits and pieces crafted to serve our purpose. It doesn't take the Greenpact to tell us to protect our trees. The Altmer knew that. They knew if they touched our trees then all Bosmer would be up in arms.

Despite the surprise of them using an old structure, I noticed to whom the people's focus was on. He was dressed in rags that anyone would barely call rags in the first place. More like rotted cloth that was torned from an old cape to cover his privates. It didn't do a very good job.

The people surrounding the gallows hissed and cursed the man kneeling before them, a black sack covering his face. There's something about death that makes people's heart pound, a healthy rush of adrenaline, a call from the Divines, no one truly knew why they fascinated over it. Maybe it puts us close to our primal need to be reminded of Arkay's thousand-fingered touch. None of these helpless souls knew anything of the one on stand to be executed, and yet they watch on, curse him, they cry for his blood.

We pushed and prodded our way through the close-knit bodies; faces cloaked in the veil of our hoods, and daggers dangling from our belts hidden under.

There was another up on the platform, towering over the hooded prisoner. He wore plated leather but with a Dominion cape draped over one shoulder. He wasn't elf but Breton. A man appointed high judge over Bosmer. The magistrate straightened his back and met his eyes with the crowd.

Milkar stepped up behind us as we reached the edge of the gallows. 'Aranwen, you head to the opposite side, don't make a move until something happens. Elren you follow me and apprehend the magistrate when I go to release the hooded elf.'

'And me?' I asked.

'Ready your bow,' Milkar commanded. 'The elf that's about to find himself a new necklace and an aching pain around his neck is my old mentor, Esmond, the legendary thief that taught me everything I know.' Milkar rounded on me, a spark of fire set in those green eyes. 'You have one simple job. _If_ , or when he decides to throttle me, I want you to put an arrow through his heart.'

They kept the accused kneeled and bowed before the dangling rope. Such an uneventful waste, but that may have been the point.

The Breton set the noose in its place knotted and tightened. He turned back to the ground, an amused grim over his pale white face. 'To all who are present on this day, Middas, fourth era-year one forty-one. We have prisoner Esmond, inheritor to no clan tried and sentenced to execution under the Aldmeri Dominion's Division of Laws and Justice.' The Magistrate searched the crowd, his light-steel eyes darting from one person to the next. Very rarely you'd ever see a human working for the Aldmeri Dominion, and if you do, his pockets are heavy, and his mind heavier. 'Here is the last time anyone can refute his crimes to prove his innocence, so speak now or forever hold your peace.'

Cheers exploded from the crowd. All for the death of someone they knew nothing about. Although I didn't know much, it still sickened me. I wanted to climb the gallows and cut the rope myself.

Milkar leaped onto the gallows' platform, earning the gasps and shouts from the crowd. I reached for my bow, holding it low and slipped an arrow from my quiver. They eyed this newcomer suspiciously. An elf all dressed in black leathers, face obscured by a hooded cloak.

'I object to that,' Milkar said to the magistrate.

'What?' the magistrate took a step back as Elren, several heads shorter than him, placed his hand on the Breton's chest and shoved him back slightly. 'On what grounds?' The magistrate took a step forward, but Elren had his knife at the ready. Hot fury blazed on the Breton's face.

Milkar's grin could have been the most sinister thing I've ever seen. It was exciting, to be honest, to see my brother live up to his claims of being a criminal. ' On the grounds that I know, he is not guilty.

'And how could you know—' he took a step forward, but Elren pushed him back again 'what in Auriel's name is going on here?'

'You see, Magistrate, this elf here isn't guilty, because _I_ am the guilty one.'

'What? What?'

Milkar bellowed a laugh over the crowd's protest. Still, Esmond knelt there as still as a rock.

Before anyone knew what had just occurred, the slashed rope slipped from the high beam and fell to the platform floor with a thud. The loudness and energy of the people didn't help register the next occurrence.

Esmond became a blurred mass right before my eyes. For a person that had been locked up in a cell for a year, he moved awfully fast, too fast for a hungry escapee. He carved a straight path through the men, women, and children, earning screams from all the trio. Guards flooded into the crowd from all sides.

'Follow him but do not confront him!' Milkar commanded us.

I huffed and strapped my bow over my shoulders and took off, Aranwen close behind. I ran through both guard and civilian alike.

Luckily it was far too early for the stream of steady visitors and leavers to pollute the mossy causeway out leading out of the city. Esmond was moving fast, entirely too fast to have been normal. But we followed the splash of light left in the moss by his footsteps. Aranwen pulled up next to me, slicing through the brush with a withdrawn Tanto.

'That was a Gods-damned monkey shit show,' he said.

'What do we do when we catch up to him?'

Aranwen tossed me his Tanto blade mid-run. 'Defend yourself.'

We stopped where the road forked into three narrower roads, three paths illuminated by Esmond's footprints.

'What?' I looked towards Aranwen.

Aranwen looked back to see Milkar nowhere to be seen. Elren had caught up as soon as we stopped. 'Shit,' he murmured. He ripped his other Tanto blade from its sheath, the metal sang a high-pitched song. 'Take this.' He handed the blade to Elren. 'We'll each take a path and follow it.'

Still confused by the display before us, I disagreed with my brother. 'Wait,' I said, raising a hand to the two. 'Explain this!' I pointed to the trio pairs of footprints in the moss.

'Illusion magic,' Elren said with his mischievous smile. This might have been a fun game to him.

'Elren, I know this might seem like fun, but I am genuinely freaked out by all this.'

'Go!' Aranwen demanded.

I took off down my chosen path, still flustered that Elren had the audacity to laugh about this in my face. In my face!

I stopped abruptly in a clearing in the underbrush. A beam of sunlight escaped from the mighty canopy above, reaching down to the forest floor. Esmond stood in the center of it, looking up and out at the sun. He was a lanky one, about two heads taller than me. His hair, long and unkempt, flowed to his shoulders like white silk. Although he was thin, his muscles were tight and knotted under his tanned skin. He turned to me and stared with chilling, mixed eyes.

Not human or Beast, and certainly not pure Bosmer. His eyes were the color of a newly sprouted leaf on a tree, green circled by a ring of yellow.

'You know,' I said, stepping closer. 'it's pretty rude to run from the person that rescued you just moments before your execution.'

'And who, I pray-tell, are you?' Esmond turned fully, his body squared to me. Sweat glistened over his heaving chest, and his legs wobbled.

'They starved you, I'm guessing?'

Esmond took a step forward, but this time his step was deliberate and sharp. I noticed a blue hue circling his legs and his arms. A vortex of raw magicka in the form of an energized atmosphere swirling in and out of the muscle and sinew, giving him the strength he needed to stand, run, and hold himself up. 'I haven't had a thing to eat in several days.' He spoke with an airy, seductive voice.

'Using Magicka to augment your speed and strength for your escape, smart.' I lowered the Tanto blade, a mistake on my part. 'Milkar will be here shortly and then—'

'Milkar,' he interjected, narrowing his yellow-green eyes, 'is going to pay for having me arrested.'

'What?'

Esmond raised a hand and began churning magicka energies on his palm. I quickly readied my brother's sword again as Esmond summoned a sword the length of his arm. The movement was fluid and swifter than my eyes could follow, my body moved too slowly. By the time, my sword's tip had passed my waist, Esmond pounced like a tiger, no, faster than a tiger. The magicka enabling his movements gave him such an extreme speed, he was two inches from my face in a mere blink of an eye. His conjured sword was already at my throat before I knew what happened.

Tutor Rollyn taught me to fight against magic users. The mages, the wizards, the witches, the hagravens, and the mancers. Rarely do you ever come across someone who has mastered magicka without a discipline. The five major schools of magic are there for a reason: to give control of your innate magical ability. Using raw magicka, the swirling blue energy bestowed by Magnus himself, is an extremely difficult and dangerous practice. There are several practical and battle-induced uses but at a cost. Using pure magicka can deplete you of your lifeforce before you can say "Vanus Galerion." But this elf seemed to have brought it to a focus, using it as if it were a proper tool instead. And his mastery over the other schools had me at a standstill.

I took a step back, feeling my feet sink into the dirt, the adrenaline seeping into my blood, my heart pounding against my chest. The world slowed to a crawl then spun like a green tornado. I brought myself back to focus, my mouth watering with the need to fight.

My shove prompted an execution strike, but he didn't complete it. My left hand pushed against his body, cold to the touch, and came back throbbing with it. He stumbled back, but the magicka in his legs gave him an unnatural balance. I wouldn't dare try to match his speed, so I anticipated his counter.

Even with his speed, the function of a mortal's body is all the same. A strain in his forearm whispered parry; in his shoulders and biceps, an upper slash; a step forward, elbow tucked, and a deep breath was obviously a lunge. With his speed, it was all a blur. But Rollyn taught me these tricks, forced me against them. I knew how to fight this elf, and it was up to me if I wanted to win or suffer defeat.

I noticed something odd during our dance in the forest—he didn't care to exhibit the same fatigue a person would during battle. There were no flaws in his technique—the type of flaws you start to show when swinging around a metal weapon or expelling a copious amount of magicka. That shake in his legs had disappeared.

I ended a strike with a twist in my legs, dropping my body low with a leg extended. My shin kick into the back of his knee only to have his skin crack as if it wasn't skin at all and instead, a pillar of glass. My leg came back cold to the touch.

I dropped my sword to my side, halting Esmond's advance.

We stared into each other's eyes for a moment before a smile creased his cheeks.

'What's the matter, sister of Milkar Lockharte?' He asked, the wry smile still on his lips.

'"A man whose only promise to Nirn is a lie,"' I muttered letting Aranwen's Tanto slip from my grip. 'A master illusionist, the legendary Nightblade and thief, Esmond.'

'Your brother speaks of me in high praises,' the illusion said, walking closer.

'What qualms do you have with him?' I asked. 'He seeks your help.'

'Oh, does he? Even after he left me to rot in a prison cell? The muscles in his jaws flexed with hot anger.

'That doesn't make any sense if we just saved you.'

'Perhaps, but I did still have to sit in a cell and watch the days inch by minute by minute. It was torture.'

'I thought you could have escaped at any minute, old friend.' My brother's voice rang out from behind a Root Wall. 'Please forgive me for not realizing you couldn't sooner.'

Milkar, Aranwen, and Elren filtered out from behind the brush, walking into the sunlit opening. Milkar stood in front of his old mentor, two masters now, considering each other's gazes. One of Emerald perfection and the other of steel wisdom and power locked in a battle of the stares.

Esmond scoffed. 'They fed me _Crimson Vine_ before I could realize what it was.'

Milkar grimaced. _Crimson Vine_ was a natural magicka suppressant. A poison that grew in the forest and is used by assassins to murder powerful mages across Valenwood. A small chuckled escaped Elren, and I looked at the boy.

'What's so funny?' I asked him.

He pointed with a nod. 'They're happy to see each other.'

I raised a brow. 'One looks pissed, and the other looks impatient. Where do you see happiness?'

'I've seen when they're angry with each other. This isn't that.'

I turned back to my brother and his mentor, sure enough, Esmond's body language didn't tell the tale of someone who was angry. But that isn't his real body.

Milkar shook his head after hearing Esmond's tour of time in his prison cell. 'Well, we can't sort this out right now. Why don't you show yourself?' he inquired with a short nod towards a ridge lifted by the growth of a tree root. 'Your real self.'

Red hotness flashed up from my chest onto my face. He was hiding the entire time, watching me fight his illusion and snickering behind the brush. The body that stood before Milkar dissipated into a thousand blue particles, becoming one with the air around us. The real Esmond slowly wobbled out, the blue magicka that gave him the energy to run as fast as he did have depleted. A few more seconds into our fight and I would have won on account of his magicka limits.

'Wipe that smirk off your face, little girl. I have more than enough magicka to fight all four of you in this form.' The real Esmond boasted.

'And I'm sure your knees buckling is a good sign of that,' I retorted, earning a snort from Aranwen.

'Milkar maybe,' Aranwen added. 'But not any of us.' My brother winked at the Altmer-Bosmer.

'Neither your mother,' Esmond jabbed a finger into Milkar's chest, 'nor your father is as annoying as you and your pestering siblings.'

'It's good to see you, Esmond. Truly.' Milkar placed a steady hand on his mentor's shoulders.

Esmond sighed. 'You owe me.'

Milkar nodded. 'I do.'

'I felt betrayed. I was even planning to kill you.'

'I'm sorry.'

Esmond shrugged. 'Wouldn't be able to with a broken neck, though, could I?'

'No.'

'Well, I suppose it's time to move before the Ranger Guard come rummaging these parts looking for a naked old half-breed mutt. I trust you have a fence good enough to fetch me some leathers?'

Milkar let out an airy laugh. 'No, I haven't reached that step yet.'

Esmond "tsked" and wagged his finger. 'We have a lot of work before us, don't we?' Milkar didn't answer. Esmond shrugged and said, 'Well then, let's get started, shall we?'


	6. An Exhibit of Sword and Stone

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* * *

 _I chose the darkness because it was all I knew. I lived in the shadow of a national hero and expected to be her equal. Darkness was my solace._

* * *

Chapter 6: An Exhibit of Sword and Stone

'First things first,' Esmond said, holding a single, pale finger towards us.

Elren and I shot each other incredulous glances. I never thought that I would have learned so much in the short amount of time that I've helped my brother. This place, this world that was so new to me has become my new home. I've stayed, slept, and ate here without even thinking about heading home. I haven't seen Father for the past fortnight. Shimmer Root was quickly becoming my new home if it weren't already. The Torchbug lanterns illuminated the old Nightblade with luminescent light. Shimmer Root's brown, woody walls encased us within our secret chamber, making me feel safe and secured. The secrecy and obscurity of the place felt like a shield from the outside world. Anything we did in the field can't be traced back to this place. In weeks passed, we've added many additions since I joined my brother in his illegitimate endeavors. That included a training hall for Elren and me; something all of us could enjoy. We spent hours in here learning to break open locks, what's the best way to strip someone of their belongings without them noticing and keeping our footsteps silent. The hidden sanctuary provided all we needed to keep us in the shape Milkar wanted us to be in. My body grew stronger, faster, more adept at living a life in the shadows. We were growing, my siblings and I, and we were becoming the beings we wanted to be. And best of all, we were generating momentum in our endeavor to save Valenwood.

'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.' Esmond held our gaze.

'As Milkar puts it, the Thieves of the Wood has a vast network,' I said. 'After all, you and he have done, they still stand tall and powerful.'

Esmond nodded. 'A wedge driven won't split a log apart. It takes more than one hack of your ax.'

'That depends if the ax is enchanted or not.' Aranwen sat in the back. He hadn't the need to listen to Esmond, but I suppose he sat in out of amusement.

Esmond shrugged. 'An enchanted ax would be a team of highly trained Nightblades. A bunch of inexperienced delinquents is like a dull wax shaver.'

'This wedge you speak of is like the romance between the Tam'Akar and the Woods ending a year ago?' I asked.

'Hundreds of dead leaving only a few dozens to flee into obscurity. What started as a purge ended up as a battle between law enforcer and a criminal guild.' Esmond's face fell long and solemn, watching us with those flowery eyes. 'You're right, young Leila. Milkar and I played as that wedge, and it created the ideal situation for us.'

'By creating a rift between the Altmer and the Thieves of the Wood, you only create two enemies.' Elren pierced his lips together. 'I don't think that's ideal.'

Esmond shook his head slowly. 'You've failed to understand. The bitter resentment the Thieves of the Wood now has towards the Tam'Akar will benefit us.'

'What I understand is that my clan, my family, and my mother are dead. And the people who did it are still walking around Valenwood freely.'

I never saw any anger on Elren's face until now. Usually, it was a mischievous smile as if he was always up to no good. If this whole movement was because of him, he didn't really show it. If I watched my family die right before my eyes. I would have bent the world to its knees and burned it alive. But there wasn't a sliver of anger in his voice where there should have been. It was remote and devoid of any emotion as if he was just stating some facts he heard at a distance. But the words, his choice of words, told a different story.

Esmond ran a hand smoothly through his white hair. 'If you want to prevent what happened from happening again, then we have to do things the right way. We have to chip away at Monsotar's network, aim the arrow at his limbs before his heart.'

'Monsotar,' Milkar said, descending the carved stair into the hall. 'Monsotar Handseed; I want you two to remember that name. Think of the Thieves of the Wood has a body with limbs, a torso, and a head.' Milkar raised a finger. 'One, we cut off his limbs. His businesses, of course. The way he generates his coin: Thornbush-Enchanted weaponry, illegal in all regions of Valenwood; stolen goods housed in secret caches throughout the province; then, we destroy his league of bandits—Valenwood's regions are rife with bandit clans on Monsotar's coin; and lastly, we take him out completely.'

A whisper of air snuck through the hall and cut into the silence that followed. There is a primary root to what the Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood focused on. The Thalmor's elite inquisition force, the Tam'Akar, is Tamriel's most callous group of elves. Their mission was to weed out heresy in ways the Thalmor was not ready to show to the public. The stories surrounding them are foggy, dressed as rumor and speculation. But there are those who know the truth, people like me and my brothers; people like Esmond and Elren that have seen their terror first hand. They will stamp us out like a flicker of kindling if we aren't vigilant in making enemies with such a force. Across Elsweyr, the cries of the Khajiit are far and wide. Entire clans purged in a single night. Manes killed in front of their children, their blood spilled by those who wear the golden dragon.

In the language of the Aldmer, our ancient ancestors of a time unrecorded, Tam'Akar translates to Dawn Dragons. The dragons heralding a new era—a new time, like Auriel himself. It's just a load of boar shit; these Altmer are no more immortal than Elren or me or anyone else. But I know, just as Milkar knows, that they will stop at nothing to complete their mission. One of them, after all, was a member of the Circle of Seven—Mother's tier. A tier that none of us has reached. It makes you wonder, in light of seeing one, just how powerful they were during the Oblivion Crisis. I have seen Father spar on rare occasions at the Ranger Guard training grounds graduations. He made masters of archery and the short sword fall on their back, war-hardened Bosmer give up in mere minutes of simulated fights. During my own training, Tutor Rollyn showed how skilled he was against

a number of enemies we encountered in our eight years of adventure in the wilds of Valenwood. And now we deal with Aridiil, said to be one of the most powerful of the Circle.

'What's first?' Elren said, breaking me from my thoughts.

Milkar rubbed his sharp, rigged jaw, his green eyes alight with the sort of passion that inspires. 'We take away the Woods' most important asset.'

'Which is?' I inquired.

'Augoth Thornbush.'

* * *

The world seemed to pass by ever so slowly. The trees towering above flashed over like a continuous green river, flowing like the rapids of the River Strid. There were worries in my gut—worries that I couldn't quite understand. Here we were: Elren, Aranwen, and I on a carriage running through the forest towards Northern Grahtwood, and I couldn't stop thinking about my future. This is exactly what I wanted, of course, to bring forth peace to the province that I love, like Mother wanted, but with my own little twist. I'd do it as a thief, a dancer in the shadows. In my Father's endeavor to shape me into the new Ara of the Ghost Bow, he ended up pushing me further into the shadow and further into a life of crime. But that's okay because my shadow will deepen far darker than Mother's light can shine.

I felt a touch on my shoulder, turning to see Elren's hand there. 'Are you okay?'

That's the first time Elren has made his feelings obvious—the first time for me at least. My new friend in all of this. He made it feel as if I wasn't alone. This isn't a choice that he made like I did. His resolve wasn't some little child rebelling against his father, no, this was a job he had to do. 'I'm fine,' I answered simply.

'I got you this for you.' Elren reached for his belt and slid a head-length dagger from a sheath. 'Had it made in Elden Root.' He pressed it on my held-out palm. 'Reinforced Osseinium.'

My heart seemed to freeze then started pounding heavily against my chest; I could feel my free hand clamp onto my chest as I stumbled for the right words. 'Reinforced Osseinium,' I repeated because I had nothing else to say. I was completely at a loss. 'You shouldn't—'

'Deserve it,' Elren said, nodding. 'Keep. I have one too.' He showed the dagger's twin.

Osseinium is the rib of a Moss Giant, grounded down to a razor-sharp point then doused in molten steel and hammered to perfection. It is the hardest material—after the extinct Iron-bark tree—that you can find in Valenwood. Bone reinforced by steel. It's harder than ebony and even daedric. The dagger's hilt was wrapped with a gripping black leather strip, ending with a small ball for the pommel.

'I don't know how—to thank you.' I faltered on my words foolishly.

'Keep being my friend.'

A rosy red flushed his cheeks for a moment. I don't know what overcame me, the gratitude, perhaps the emotion that I hid behind walls many years ago slipped out, but when I took Elren into my arms, it felt right. 'Thank you.'

I must have turned the dagger over in my hand hundred times before I slipped it underneath my dress.

We halted in front of a treedome sitting on the edge of a far-reaching forest. The tree was wet and prosperous, not stretching as high as its neighboring brethren but twice as wide. Its roots twisted and turned in every direction and the two root walls stretched to the shape of _v_ , funneling the patrons into its domain. The tree was wrapped in thick Mora Vine that doubled the further you panned your head up its trunk. Mushrooms and moss swathed the root walls and the base, bathing the stair with blue and green shades of Y'ffre's Light. The statue of an elven warrior stood in the center of the first platform ascending the stairs. Its grey form was frozen in time, holding the pommel of a greatsword as its tip stabbing the base. Its lifeless eyes stared at me and everywhere simultaneously.

I hopped from the carriage; Aranwen and Elren followed. I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress. Its been an entire decade since I dressed like this, and obvious by his discomfort, Elren never has. The olive-green dress ended just above my knees and hugged my lithe form. At the top, the dress covered my shoulders and bosom, keeping my scars from years of hard training covered. It wasn't easy to walk in it. My family may have wealth, but we were a family of warriors, politicians, and my ancestors were Iron-Bark tree farmers. I hated the parties and the people. I made strides to the first round of steps awkwardly and curled my toes inside the stylish boots that held too much room.

Elren was even more uncomfortable. His long-sleeved, furred jacket covered him to just above his groin and is buttoned up completely at the left side, fitting his fit frame. The sleeves of his jacket were wide and reached down to well below his wrists; they're decorated with a decorative band almost at the edges. The jacket has a wide _V-neck_ which revealed part of the graceful shirt worn below it and was worn with a simple cloth belt, held together by a belt buckle. The cloth belt was entirely decorative and a way to show off, hidden beneath all that was his Osseinium dagger. His pants were simple and loose fitting, reaching down to his bound cloth shoes made from rare tree-lamb wool. He looked smart in a way I didn't think he could look.

Aranwen approached the two Aldmeri soldiers standing on opposite sides of a grandiose bone-carved doorway. Massive vines twisted and interlocked in a weaved pattern, leaving a soft glow to spill from within. The resonances of eloquent yet aloof chatter and the smooth melodic springs of a harp and lute bounced lightly on my ears, awakening the supercilious side in me. A practiced attitude taught at a very young age, younger than when I raised my first bow to level. Aranwen reached into his pocket and brandished three silver-leafed invitations and handed the Thalmor Justiciar accompanying the soldiers.

'Enjoy the festivities,' the Justiciar said, stepping aside.

'Let's hope it's better than the last, hmm?' Aranwen replied with a wide grin.

'What... is that supposed to mean?' The Altmer raised a blonde brow at our group of three.

'Nothing in particular.'

Entering the Hall of Heroes brought a blast from the past—figuratively and literally. Statues and displays lined the inner sanctuary. Monuments to the heroes of old here in Valenwood kept safe from thieves and treasure hunters. What a world a Bosmer could live in if each of these remnants of dead Mer was sold for coin. Besides the museum's most remarkable contents, the party's guest caught my gaze. Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit Aldmeri officials mingled with one another, or rather Bosmer and Khajiit mingled while the Altmer avoided the rest except their own kind.

A red-scaled Argonian offered Aranwen a clear cup of some clear bubbling drink. He looked down at Elren and me with recalling eye. 'Don't do anything that would blow our cover.'

'And is that a rule all three of us should follow, or just me and Elren?' I asked, pointing a thumb at the Justiciar guarding the entrance.

Aranwen smiled. 'What's more authentic than a slick-mouthed Bosmer taking a shot at a prissy Altmer?'

He had a point, he did. The Altmer were high-spoken, well-versed, and practiced workers of everything eloquent and proper. Their backs stood straight, their heads held high, and their gazes entranced with the look that would make you ashamed of how the Divines made you.

There was an unspoken air of contempt around Elren. His interactions with the other guests of the party was that of a reluctant pup unaware of the world. Besides Elren's clan, he hadn't experienced this sort of dealings. Aranwen on the other had had years of practice. Our father was the Ambassador of Valenwood. Faeden Lockharte was the link between the Valenwood and the rest of the Aldmeri Dominion. That meant dealing with people on different spectrums. Aranwen was the product of a family that lived the high life. Gladly, it's a good thing Milkar, him, and I broke away from it. Aranwen flowed into the crowd, his winning smile sharpening his charm. Other patrons greeted him like they knew him for years, and women fought imaginary battles with their eyes over his attention. He was a good distraction for Elren and me.

I approached Elren then, startling as he backed away from the bulk of the party. An Altmer woman in a royal patterned dress strode by glancing at the both of us. I smiled up at her as she passed only for it to be answered with pierced lips.

'Are you alright?' I asked Elren as I approached.

'Can be better,' he replied. 'Don't know what I'm doing.'

'We've done jobs like this.'

'The Thalmor here don't trust me.' Elren unbuttoned his jacket. 'They see my father's blood only.'

'There are no laws against half-bloods here.' I assured him.

'Against Green Pact?'

I sighed and shook my head. 'How would they know?'

Elren scanned the crowd and flicked his ears to the whirr of voices and music. He watched each soldier and Dominion officials carefully. After feeling satisfied, he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. 'Have you found its location?'

'Not yet,' I answered him. 'But a sword like Pondus should have its own display. It will be easy to find. We're invisible here.' Although being invisible to people who knew my family was unusual.

The Hall of Heroes was a museum of sorts—one of the largest in Valenwood. Exhibits were dating from the ancient eras throughout our history. The first Cameron Empire and the Kings who sat on the throne high in Falinesti down to the Oblivion Crisis, when Mother made her mark. I heard her statue was one of the most intricate pieces this place had to offer to patrons. It was odd that the hall's council granted the Dominion use for a gathering such as this. Many of the exhibits had been moved for the event, pushed to the back somewhere so nothing priceless would be pushed over by a feather-light High Elf.

The numbing serenade of harp, lute, drum, and chatter died to a low hum. All heads turned their way towards the entrance. Someone stood in the doorway that captivated the attention of every guest. Through the mash-up of bodies and sparkling jewelry and wine glasses, I managed to watch a robed figure walk in slowly and patiently. The people seemed to orbit the person, giving slow bows of acknowledgment. Finally, through a small gap, I peeked the black-trimmed cloth of the Tam'Akar garb, reminiscent of Aridiil's. But this time it was a female Altmer in place of the captain. A river of white silk flowed from the Altmer's head stopping just past her shoulders. Her skin was porcelain smooth with that golden undertone all Altmer were wont to have, but she was different. The perfect specimen of beauty. It was hard o believe that this High Elven woman was the murderer of countless innocents. Pure gold stretched from acorn-shaped eyes as she glanced around the party.

One partygoer, a Bosmer, lifted his drink towards the center of the spectacle. 'To Lieutenant Florentine and the Tam'Akar. May we see Valenwood become as clean and great as the Summerset!'

The beautiful Altmer took a swift and elegant step towards the Bosmer, placing a gloved hand on his chin. 'Oh, Treethane Balgor, so good of you to have made it!' She moved with such grace and speed, every movement seemed to flash. She swiped his drink and put her lips to the rim and sipped. Before the redness could douse the treethane, she placed the drink back in his hands and moved on to other guests.

'On behalf of my team, I want to thank all who were able to attend tonight,' she said. She had a honey-sweet voice that could soothe Hircine's wildest beast. 'I am especially grateful for all the support you all have shown to the Tam'Akar throughout the years as we have change Valenwood for the better and have made it a more civilized and safe place for the Bosmer. For some time now, we have made sure those who wish to disobey the laws set by the Dominion to be duly tried and sentenced. There are still people who would seek to undermine rule here in Valenwood, and I wanted to assure the lot of you that you have the best of the Altmerish forces at your disposal. Aridiil and I will stop at nothing until every conniving thug is captured and put into a cell at the bottom of a _prison pod_.'

'What about the disappearing Bosmer clans, those who still follow the Green Pact?' Aranwen's height allowed Florentine to single him out easily. The crowd split, clearing the view further. 'There have been rumors circling speaking of murdering purges of our cultural people still in the wilds. Those that didn't take to the cities and towns. The forgotten ones if you may.'

Sometimes I believed my brother to speak too much. But these questions were the questions many were too scared to ask. Aranwen knew the truth; Elren and I did too, but we wanted others to ask the same questions we already knew the answers to. I wouldn't take much if we went to the streets and sprouted these rumors to the people. In fact, they are already many who do, but they're cast off as madmen or drunks. We didn't need to shout in people's face; we needed to get them to figure it out on their own.

Florentine smiled, her beauty dazzling the crowd as they looked up at Aranwen and already casting him a fool. 'Ah. You look... familiar.'

Aranwen said nothing, just stood there with a wry grin written across his face. All eyes were on the two now. 'Oh! To be recognized by someone of your beauty is an honor. Besides, I inherited the best charm in all Valenwood.' He pointed to his grin.

Florentine tapped a gloved finger over her perfectly lush lips. 'I see. The son of Lockharte.' That got the crowd to enter inquiry. One older Altmer exclaimed his regards for Aranwen's distasteful outburst. 'You have your mother's eyes and your father's smile.' She winked, batting an elongated eyelash. 'But you're a bit lacking in any of their mannerisms.'

Aranwen stepped forward. 'I've always been the black sheep,' he snorted. He stopped short just before Florentine who was an entire head taller than him. 'Answer the question, Inquisitor. What about the Green Pact Bosmer who are being slaughtered by the thousands?'

'Hmm,' she raised an eyebrow. 'Like you said: all rumor and conjecture.' She spun around towards the other guests. 'But if any of the cultural Bosmer should wish to inquire about the disappearance of their brethren, then they should enter the civilized world and approach the Countreeve with their requests as soon as possible.'

Florentine knew they couldn't do that; she knew that if the Greenpact Bosmer joined the Aldmeri Dominion with the rest of us, then they couldn't practice the Greenpact anymore. And if they did, then they could legally be jailed or executed. There wasn't a choice for them.

I looked towards Elren to find him gone. The empty space where he'd been standing hadn't a sign he was ever there. Turning around, I caught a glimpse of him slipping through a doorway into the back rooms of the hall. Aranwen still entertained the crowd with his blasphemous questions, and it was then that the plan dawned on me. Aranwen wasn't his usual imprudent character, he was creating a distraction for us.

I sent silent prayers to my brother and wished he wouldn't overdo it. Any such questions would have the entire Thalmor force on our foot. The thing was, Milkar and Aranwen had already created a respective reputation over the years among these types. It isn't like they weren't known by the Tree Thanes and the magistrates. Everyone knew them, and sometimes me, as the children of Ambassador Faeden Lockharte. They knew me as the daughter of Ara of the Ghost Bow; pupil of Rollyn the Special; and the girl who was going to climb the ranks of the Ranger Guard, become the Watchmaster and take Mother's place in history as a great warrior. But after coming home, they were all too worried about their own corruption to take notice of me.

I quickly fell in after Elren.

The massive arching corridor stopped some paces away, stretching into a circular room, lined at the walls with massive statues. Tree pillars as tall as giants frame each arch, giving the hall that heroic appeal. Each nook had a new display of some weapon or item from Valenwood's long history. How rich would we be if we took to emptying the hall of every priceless scrap of metal or refined carved bone and wood? Elren didn't bother himself with any of it, not even a passing glance.

We were here for a simple job, steal the fabled sword of Hayman Camoran—the Camoran Usurper. During my studies of ancient and powerful weapons over the years, I learned much about the Camoran Usurper. A Bosmer advisor who usurped the original Bosmer kingship and went on to conquer Valenwood, freeing it from the Empire and defeating them in Cyrodiil. As the story went, his sword, Pondus, won him so many battles that people revered it as a gift from the Divines. I'm the one that suggested we steal it here in the Hall of Heroes during the gathering of the Dominion's most loyal puppets of Valenwood. And at the same time, we can show the Tam'Akar that someone new is on the playing field.

It was all like playing squires—conquering the board, finding the right moves to make, and using your pawns and knights to do the job.

It was quiet back here. The noise from the party didn't reach down the corridor, and all that was left was the incomprehensible eyes of elves stronger and more courageous than I was. All were staring with their sickeningly unpretentious stares. I wanted them to hate me, each and every one. Spit in my face; call me a failure, a thug, a thief. I wanted them to know everything that I was doing and was going to do. I didn't want to be them; locked in stone, posed in a gallant so people of the lesser kind could stare at me for eternity. Obscure me in darkness, forget the girl they called Ara's successor. In this world, I wanted to live the shadows and be the shadows. It isn't a ghost that lingers, a legend that's spoken around campfires, but a name people are willing to forget. A name they forgot but are living with the fruits of their labors. Unlike Mother, who the people offered parades, statues and monuments for her deeds, coin, prizes, and all the advantages she took for simply being strong in a time when Tamriel needed the strong.

It didn't take much time to find Pondus. The sword was a spectacle on its own. A true beauty sitting on a pedestal with the gleam of a shining sunblossom bathing it in an atmospheric glow. I made several strides towards it before the entranceway to the front of the hall creaked open. I quickly diverted my step towards a statue, pretending to study it. Elren was quick on his feet; he slipped away into the darker crevice of the hall, fitting between two glass displays.

The slow, steady footsteps thudded thickly on the polished, wooden floor. I turned to see those dark robes wavering with the swift movements of its owner. Florentine was the definition of graceful physics; every move of her muscle wasn't a waste. Every twitch of her fingers, every step placed was deliberate and exact. She smiled as she approached, but not even that could erase the smoothness and perfection from her high cheeks and the rest of her face.

The hairs on the back of my neck raised. Not even Aridiil gave me this much pause. For some awful reason, Florentine intimidated me.

I kept my composure well enough, offering Elren's hiding place a quick glance before fully acknowledging the Altmer as she stood before me. I smiled at her lankiness. The Altmer are a tall people, and the Bosmer are short. She might as well have been a giant.

'Prefer the quietness sculptures of great mortals have to offer, do we?' Florentine said with a smile. 'You're like me then.'

'You seemed lively enough with the others,' I replied. 'Especially with my brother. What brings you back here?'

'I like to greet _all_ of my guests. I knew you looked familiar the moment I walked in, so I thought I'd like to speak with you.' She looked down with an incredulous stare. 'The daughter of Faeden Lockharte and Ara High-Arrow, were you enjoying the festivities?'

My nose flared but I tried not to show any emotion. 'Finally, someone who acknowledges my mother without her epithet.'

Florentine giggled. 'We Altmer acknowledges a mortal's deeds and commend them. But we never immortalize them to the point where they're deemed greater than gods.' She waved a hand around the hall towards all the stone heroes lining the walls, sitting in eternity to watch as people admire their figure. 'These people, every one of them, have done something honorable for their home and for Tamriel in the past eras. Yet we remember them as we remember the ancestor divines. The more we do that, the more powerful they become in Aetherius. It just isn't right.'

I sighed and turned back to the statue I pretended to admire as she walked in on my possible crime. I hadn't noticed just who I stopped in front of.

'Interesting,' Florentine said, approaching closer.

'Black,' I muttered. I half said it to myself out of the realization of who the artist modeled the sculpture after.

Black was a Khajiit member of Mother's band of elite warriors, the Circle of Seven, during the Oblivion Crisis—the assassin from the Tenmar Forest of Elsweyr. The black coated warrior was a pivotal member in the last moments that saw the closing of Valenwood's Oblivion gates and was written in history as the greatest thing out of the province. His sacrifice saved the lives of his team and the entire population of Valenwood.

I eyed Florentine conspicuously. My task was to steal Pondus without the Thalmor suspecting us. Although, they would suspect any of the guests at the gathering. In the end, we couldn't afford to be named, not this early in the game. Florentine's golden gaze fell on Black's grey form. The tall Cathay-Raht appeared indifferent to the people who will once forget him as the centuries pass it by.

'What are heroes anyway?' Florentine asked the words. It struck me odd she would've asked me that question, so I decided it was to gauge my answer.

'Heroes? I don't believe there is such a thing as a hero.'

'No?' Florentine's inquisitive grin flexed wide. 'Even with parents such as yours?'

'Is a homesinger a hero because he creates homes for those who do not have one, or is it just his duty to do so? Because he is tasked by the Countreeve and the Ministry of Y'ffre to use his magic to do so.' My eyes met hers. 'Mother, Father... both were Ranger Guard and later recruited by what remnants were left of the Fighter's Guild. It was their duty to defend Valenwood. It just so happened that they were the best at doing so. Why aren't there countless statues of the ten thousand Bosmer that died fighting against the Daedra?

She tapped a slender finger on my shoulder. 'Exactly where I'm getting at. Duty to what and who you are. You are very wise for your age, young Leila.'

I didn't think anything of her knowing my name. The people who are in close business with my Father knew who the Lockhartes are, they knew who my mother was, and of course, they would know who the Lockharte siblings were. But it was the way she said my name. Such familiarity, so easy going. I kept the sweat from my brow.

I fought Aridiil, and at that moment, I risked revealing myself to the Tam'Akar. However, I did cover my face and kept my tracks covered. There wasn't any covering these infamous eyes. The most talked about spectacles of the High-Arrow clan that my mother heralded from. Mother's father, Belstigorn High-Arrow was once said to have the most recognizable gaze in all Valenwood. Did she know about my involvement that night?

'So, what is _your_ duty?' She asked, finally. 'Your exploits around Valenwood with your mentor have been noted by the Dominion. What has been Rollyn doing recently anyway?'

I turned my head from her slightly. 'I don't know anything about my old tutor,' I lied. 'But my duty isn't to follow what my father would want, that's for sure.'

'That's marvelous,' she said. 'Do explain?'

I sighed, slowly breathing out. 'I plan to follow my own path. Don't have me wrong, I will protect Valenwood, though.'

'Oh, that sounds—'

'From all the lies and corruption that has plagued it from the shadows.' I locked eyes with the Tam'Akar agent. 'From those who are willing to kill its people and lie about it just to further some agenda of disrupting the peace of Tamriel. I want to strip away the mind that takes people to think that they can persist in behaving this way. And when all is said and done, I want the person who controls the pawns be the same who controls the queen and the king. If it makes me a hero, then so be it. If it doesn't, then well I guess I can say that I've done my duty.'

'You have very... heavy aspirations, Lockharte child. But be mindful of the path the Divines set out for you. I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with you _losing_ ,' she paused a moment, 'yourself. But one can tend to become crushed under all that weight.'

Neither of us spoke for a while, but our eyes held an intensity as heated as any argument. She was an inquisitor, and not just any inquisitor, one that was trained and worked for the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. I didn't underestimate her ability to read anything and anyone. It was very likely she knew why my brother and I were here.

I stole a glance towards Elren who hadn't moved an inch or made a beep. Ribbons of laughter and music escaped from the party just beyond the doors to the front of the Hall. Dust fell between us, and in that impossibly quick glance spared towards my friend, I saw the something that I hadn't seen before. A fresh and new statue unlike any other I'd seen. Elren hadn't noticed it. And then for the tiniest of a sliver of something smaller than a second, it moved. It was so quick and so small, it just as well could have been a figment of my imagination.

I wasn't going to take the chance.

All that mattered now was what I wanted to accomplish, who I wanted to accomplish it with, and how I was going to get there. All or nothing.

Quick as quick, I slipped my Osseinium dagger from under my dress in a fluid motion, twirled the knife so that my hand held the hilt in an overhand grip and dragged it across Florentine's neck. Only that's not what happened. My hand stopped before my dagger could reach her flesh. I watched as Florentine's smile stretched into something sinister; something entirely different from the beautiful Altmer I saw earlier. Lines that weren't there previously, cracked open across her otherwise smooth cheeks. Dust fell from them.

'Elren run!' I exclaimed and tried to pull my hand free, but she had my fist held firmly as the dagger penetrated through her palm.

There was no blood; no meat to her hand. Instead of the stuff that makes up mortals, dirt fell from the wound. It hissed towards the ground like sand in a desert.

Without hesitation, I quickly kicked at her leg, send the joint twisting in an unnatural position and hearing no bone breaking or ligament snapping. Something was wrong.

'How disappointing,' she said.

The sound of rock grinding echoed through the hall, forcing me to turn towards Elren again. A statue depiction of a Justiciar had grabbed Elren by his throat and was throttling him with a face absent of feeling. Florentine reached for me with her other hand, but I was quick to move again. I finally released my new dagger and successfully pulled my hand free of her iron grip, breaking three of her fingers in the process. I came to the sudden realization that the Altmer standing in front me wasn't Florentine. I mean, it was her, but not her body. It was a clone made of earth. And the ugly statue holding tightly onto Elren was some sort of stone atronach.

Esmond warned us of Florentine's power. The rarity of it—the dangers. Here in Tamriel, there are certain elements users of the destruction school can use. Fire, Ice, and Lightning are the most common. Those who can control wind are one in twenty mages, not so rare but still unlike the common uses. I've seen one or two hydromancers in my adventures with Tutor Rollyn. But the rarest of them all and perhaps the most astonishing gift was Terramancy, magics of the earth. Unlike the other forms of destruction magic, Terramancy cannot be taught. If your blood is incapable of controlling the earth, then you will never be able to. Those who do carry the bloodline limit are known as the strongest mages to have ever walked Nirn.

I ran straight for Elren. He managed to wrap his legs around the stone figure's neck, pulling his upper torso from the thing's grip as hard as he could. When I reached, the animated statue sacrificed a two-hand grip on Elren to raise one towards me. Narrowly dodging the outstretched limb, I slid into its legs, tumbling it over. With the quick moment, Elren slipped away. He spun on Florentine and released three throwing knives in quick succession. The terramancing Altmer raised her forearm letting the three blades strike her. Sand hissed from the wounds and spilled over the ground.

'It's not really her,' I informed Elren. 'She's just a mimic made of dirt.' The real Florentine must still be outside the back room, dancing and laughing with the guests as if nothing was happening back here. These Tam'Akar Inquisitor's weren't normal mages. They were far beyond anything I knew was possible.

'Let's grab the sword and go,' Elren barked.

Pondus sat on its pedestal with this Florentine imitation standing between us and it. Dread crept along the crevices of my mind, coming into thought at full force. 'Easier said than done!'

Elren jumped backward, somersaulting onto an exhibit. Florentine's atronach ground its limbs after Elren, reaching out towards him.

I trained my eyes back on the approaching Florentine, her footsteps weren't the graceful movement from before. This time every step seemed pained and broken. Her limbs didn't flow but bent in awkward positions that would have been painful if she was real. Florentine created this imitation to mimic herself, but it started to come apart. She wielded my dagger in the same hand I'd stabbed her. I only hoped to survive this and come back to Milkar with the sword he wanted. I couldn't have cared whether the Tam'Akar was going to come after my brothers and me or have my father do the honors with a legion of Ranger Guard. All I cared for was the promises I made to myself.

I raised my fist, my left hand forward and my right leveled with my face; a stance Tutor Rollyn instructed me on during hand-to-hand combat training.

'Color me impressed, young Leila. From the look you're giving me, you seem like you could take on all Nirn. That's something worth noting.' Florentine raised her good hand towards me. 'It bothers me that I have to kill you. I did try to come back here to gauge whether we needed to. I was hoping we didn't.' She made a motion that seemed like she was shaking her head, but it wasn't a natural, smooth movement, it was as if her neck kept stiffening as she moved it. 'You would have made a great Dominion agent.'

'As if I would ever work for the Aldmeri Dominion,' I said. 'It was nice to have spoken with you, inquisitor. But I'm afraid looking past the title of "hero" is where our beliefs end. And even then, that still didn't match. You see, I merely have a different definition of what it means to be a hero, you though? You and your golden-skinned extremists have your heads too far up your own asses. If you even have asses.'

'I confess.' Her mouth cracked into a smile that cracked away further than her lips should have allowed.

'Why don't you show your real body instead of this emulation.'

'If I had my real body here, you two would have been buried by now.' She watched as several statues collapse on her stone atronach, then she glanced towards the door with all her party guest just waiting behind it. 'Come, come now, Leila. What would you do if your father found out about this?'

I scoffed. 'I haven't spoken to Father in some months. And besides, what if he found out about your purges? My father was a member of the Circle of Seven, his love for Valenwood matched my Mother's. You don't believe that he would stand for the murder of his own people, do you?'

'And that is where we have an impasse, young Leila.' Her smile widened more, dirt fell from its cracks. 'You're astoundingly good at this game.'

'In this world, you can only win the game when you understand that it is a game. Tell a mortal that she has little in this world that she needs to protect, and she becomes a pawn. Tell her that none of what she owns or will own is hers. If you tell her that then she has nothing, she'll break away from the roles forced to her and steal from people their possession that they believed they retrieved themselves. If you beat into a mortal that her life is precious, that everything she's cultivated over that life is precious, give her the threat of taking it all away. If she succeeds, she is a hero, and if she fails, she is a loser. I was beaten. I was told to be like Mother, countless times. Sculptured and forged like these exhibits around me. But I refused that destiny, and now I will create my own. This is the game we play: The pawn becomes the rogue then becomes player.'

'How absolutely delightful. Someone like you would be a real problem if allowed to live. Imagine, an adult Leila Lockharte, truly indestructible.' The dirt imitation bent her knees into a stance. With her left palm facing Elren and me and her other hand wielding my dagger raised leveled with her face. Her face crumbled more into disarray. It seemed that it was becoming more difficult for the real Florentine was having difficulty maintaining the double.

I've seen this sort of trick done with the Illusion school, but those were spells to bend the mind into thinking that there were two of the same person. Even Alteration has spells that could change a mannequin into a duplicate of the spellcaster. But a clone made of destructive magic was unheard of. Having seen that it was possible only perpetuates the fact that these Tam'Akar agents were probably some of the most talented magicka weavers in all Tamriel. Their abilities rivaled the Divines.

Elren finally joined my side. After hearing the crumbling of stone just behind me, I'd known Elren finished off the atronach.

'Impressive,' Florentine said. 'Now this is getting festive!'

'How long can you maintain that?' Elren asked her.

She bit her top lips, stripping away the skin and revealing mud caked into the form of her lip. 'Just beyond that door is my true body, consuming alcohol and entertaining three Tree Thanes at once. I admit that fighting you two made me lose track of your brother; he seems to have disappeared. But once I'm done with you two, I'll go hunt him down. He can't be too far.'

Elren, being the only one with a weapon, circled slowly towards her right flank, eyeing the hand wielding my dagger. I went for her left flank. She could still cast spells, but I knew if she did anything strong enough to cause me a problem, it would dispel the mud copy of herself. Even someone as powerful as she was could not control or expand that much magicka. Elren dashed first, making her eyes drift towards him, surprised by his speed. The blades to their daggers met. Clanks and scrapes echoed through the hall. I jumped in from her left, grabbing her hand.

A boulder the size of my head volleyed from her palm, and it took nearly every flexible muscle in my body just to dodge from its path. She was fast, fending off Elren and me with precision. My fist nearly smashed her face, and Elren's dagger slashing at her false flesh.

I managed to get behind her as Elren jumped over a strike. I pounced in to grab her from behind but instead met a wall of stone twice my size. My head slammed against the wall, sending my vision swirling in a fuzzy haze. My head beat heavily as I tried to grip the world to halt its spin.

'Fuck.'

'Leila now's your chance!' Elren called out.

'Oh no, you don't!' My swirling vision deceiving, three Florentines lashed out at three Elrens, but they caught the arms respectively.

Elren held Florentine's arm between his rib cage and bicep, switching his knife hand from his left to his right and finally send the dagger through the head of the mud clone. In my daze, I stumbled over to where Pondus sat. At its base, its scabbard lay tilted on display. I quickly snatched up both the scabbard and the sword.

It was surprisingly light for a broadsword. Its length ran half my body from hip to toe, but the material kept it light but strong. Almost immediately I knew just what the legendary weapon was made from. I smiled as delight ran through me in waves.

Strapping the scabbard across my back, I spun the sword a couple of times, adjusting my wrist to its lightness.

'Finish it,' Elren said. My friend stood over Florentine as she kneeled on one knee, her face falling apart over a mound of sediment.

'By the Divines, Elren. Where did you learn how to fight like that?' I lifted Pondus over my head.

Florentine looked up at me and smiled. When I brought the sword down on her head, she caught the blade with a single hand. 'Sorry, I'd like to dance a little more, but someone of... more interest has arrived at the party. Maybe some other time?'

I put more power into the swing and sliced easily through her torso. Everything that made that thing in the likeness of Florentine disappeared. All that existed now was a pile of dust.

'We have to find Aranwen,' Elren said, pulling me back up to my feet.

Panting, I nodded and stood. 'Yeah. But the real one will be here now.'

Elren and I stopped dead in our tracks as screams echoed from the front of the Hall. Just beyond the door, the music stopped playing, replaced with the sounds of carnage. We ran for it.

Despite the screams of terror, no one came running through the door towards the back. Until we stood before it.

Heat poured from the other side, and we were better able to hear what was going on. The distinct whisper of fire wrapped the screams and sizzling crackled and popped. The smell was horrendous. Smoke seeped through the door's crack. Elren stopped me promptly from entering.

'Don't.' Elren said. 'Open that, and the flames come this way.'

'Don't?' I shrugged his hand off. 'She's out there killing them. Aranwen is out there too!'

Elren shook his head slowly. 'That's not Florentine.'

'What?'

Someone exploded from the doorway, chased by a wall of flame. The fire was too blinding to see exactly who it had been, but all I could think of was getting away from the flash burning fires.

'Run back and find cover!' Aranwen's voice.

Elren and I took heed to the voice and followed. The wall roared at our backs, licking the small hairs on my neck, causing me to slap the dryness away before the rest of my hair caught flame. We skidded around the monuments; the stone figure offering little protection from the bright, golden flames the engulfed the entire Hall. I yelped and threw myself behind the wall of stone that was created by Florentine earlier. Aranwen shouted at Elren to get behind something, but I didn't want to see what was happening. After that, the roar of the wall of flames was deafening—its heat unbearable. Sweat waterfalled my brow, down my back, and soaked my breast. After a while, my throat broke, and breathing became too difficult.

As I lay there blinded by the extreme light and choking, I reached out. I didn't know what, maybe to anything. For that moment, I wanted someone to save me. Someone like the monuments the surrounded us as we burned and kept burning us until there was nothing left. My mind went to strange and dark places. At first, it was anger. I felt angry at my father for forcing me into this kind of life. Then at the same moment, I wanted to thank him.

I also felt sorrow. Mother died giving birth to me. She was supposed to be invincible, but she could not conquer that which the gods have laid out. Did I, as her lesser, deserve to keep my life and her die? If she would have never died, then perhaps the Tam'Akar wouldn't have been able to exploit Valenwood.

I reached out, and I touched stone. The stone foot of a hero long passed. A hero that stood at my Mother's side one hundred and forty years ago. Black was red now, blared on by the fire. His face crumbling by the heat.

'Save me,' I whimpered.

 _Save me_. Words that I never thought I would utter. Father, Mother, Milkar, Aranwen, Rollyn—it didn't matter who would come, I wanted to live.

Everything around me stripped away and crumbled. Then the world went black.


	7. When Oblivion Calls

**Read, enjoy, and leave a review!**

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 _Let's make something perfectly clear; my life was dedicated to a dream and not a person. Milkar may have spoken the words, but it was the words that created this monster._

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Chapter 7: When Oblivion Calls

In the end, Ark'ay recycles all life, from the tiniest of lifeforms that causes disease and plague to the giant beasts that roam land and sea. He's a ten thousand-fingered god, quickly picking and plucking away life, and giving it anew. I never thought of death the way an ordinary person thought of it. It's something different for me. People are afraid of death; they do whatever it takes to avoid it. Although I'm not confronting every moment without the conscious of someone who didn't value their own life, I didn't think going the extra mile to fear its inevitability.

I am a simple mortal with a passion for rebellion, that much was clear. I didn't want to live by the rule of my Father, not by my Tutor, and not even the Divines in Aetherius. I want to forge my own path. So, if Ark'ay ever came to pull my string, I would deny him too. Not with fear, no, but with my innate craving for dissent.

When a mortal's soul departs from its body, you don't just wander into your next domain. The divines call you there, where you belong. Where did I belong? Where do I go when I die? I said, when I left home, that no one should remember me. I didn't want to exist like other souls—destined to wander the afterlife for eternity. I wanted the shadows to be my destiny.

Before the sporadic lances of light illuminated the back of my eyelids, I felt the cold wetness soaking every inch of my body. It stung on some parts as rain slid over burning wounds on my skin. My throat felt raw as if I'd been eating Hook-Briar new growth. When my hearing returned to me, the patter of rain echoed throughout the land. I opened my eyes to find myself laid out on a bed of ash and soot. The black sludge buried half my body, leaving shivers spasming for warmth.

The rain blared down hard enough to hinder all sight, veiling everything beyond two feet. But even as the typhoon stinted my vision, I could tell the place I lost consciousness in was no longer there. The Hall of Heroes was gone. Nothing but a black spot at the edge of a forest. I tried to climb to my feet, only to blown down a ridge and engulfed with flood water. The winds were too powerful. I pulled myself away from the flowing stream onto a bank, expelling the water from my lungs. The dressed I'd worn during the night had burned away, leaving myself revealed. Only a few strapped of cloth remained; I used it to cover my sensitive parts.

There wasn't anyone else around. Not my brother and not Elren. All the guests from the party weren't anywhere.

'They're all gone,' I said, choking on a sob.

Heavy under the powerful winds and rain, I dragged myself further through the mud back to where I'd awaken. I found Pondus under half-burned wood pulp. Florentine's stone wall protruded through the rubble as the only structure left. I wanted to cut that Altmer's head off. I slipped Pondus into its shattered sheathe still strapped on my back.

Some ways away, swirling tendrils of yellow magicka exploded outward. Mud and ash-mud floated upward in an unnatural spiral, crawling away from one focal point. As if rising from the dead, a dark-robed figure erected from the mud. There was no denying who'd survived the blast.

It was astounding to see, although it sickened me to see Florentine climb out of that crater. There were no scratches on her, not even a spec of dirt. Her pristine figure stood tall as her powerful magic did its work. She looked around at the destruction, rivulets of rain streamed down her face.

I got up then, and she turned to face me.

Pondus' short-lived rest was not in vain. I limped towards her. She looked down at me with a slow smile that built into a laugh. She gazed at me with such focus, I thought the sun to be in her eyes. 'Well,' Florentine said. 'I'll be.'

'You're going to fucking die!' I growled.

I swung Pondus, a slow strain in my weakened state. Florentine merely stepped aside, allowing the blade to miss her without effort. Every muscle in my body ached, my eyesight blurred, and my head was still on fire but from the inside. I felt like I died.

'You killed them all!'

The wind snapped all around us, moving the forest with life.

Florentine held a wet gloved hand, palm up and squeezed it slightly. The ground under me began to rumble and groan. I held my breath, and in a glancing moment, it shifted and sent me tumbling through the air and back to the ground. I fell, sprawled with the life nearly knocked out of me. Florentine approached me with careful footsteps.

She sighed. 'I didn't do this, little girl.' She turned her back on me. 'Listen. I can't let you go. I must bring you in or kill you here. It can be your choice.'

We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. There wasn't so much of an empathetic tone to Florentine's voice. The indifference to murder me put a pause in my step. I think it was at that moment it broke me. No matter how far Rollyn and I walked. How many dangerous adventures we went on or foes we fought together, I have never met anyone as sickening as this High Elf. A void opened in my heart, and I think if I hadn't peered into that void, my life would have been vastly different. It changed me. For the worst or for the better was for the people I loved as well as the people I hated to decide.

Florentine and Aridiil. The Tam'Akar Inquisitors of the Thalmor Regime. They would burn in Oblivion even if I should send them there.

'You aren't killing anyone,' a voice said from behind Florentine. A blade slid across the Altmer woman's shoulder, drawing blood, and soaking her robes with red.

'That hurt,' she said, without so much as a flinch.

Aranwen held his sword to her face and wedged himself between her and me. The fire seemed to have mostly burned away his clothes as well.

'Elren?' I inquired frantically. The boy ran through my mind as quickly as the lightning flashed above. 'Where is he?'

'Behind you, Leila.' I released a sigh of relief as Elren's quiet foot landed near my head.

Elren knelt next to me, his hand on my shoulder. I reached for him, and he grabbed my hands within his. They were warm and life-giving, his eyes smiled. 'I'm glad you're okay.'

'Your dagger,' he said, laying the thing on my chest. 'It isn't good to lose something that was just given to you.'

'Given the circumstances, I'm sure—'

'No excuses.' He winked.

'Ah.'

'Can you stand?'

'Not really,' I answered. 'My body feels broken.'

In truth, my body felt as if the entire Hall of Heroes crumbled on top of it. Heat and pressure would do that, causing your muscles to relax and spasm. I was out of the fight, that much I was assured. But Aranwen and Elren seemed like they were in for a fight.

Florentine shifted her position and crossed her arms. 'Why not kill me?'

Aranwen scoffed. 'You actually enjoy murder. That's not what we're about.'

Florentine shook her head slowly and wagged a finger. 'So naïve. You children have tarnished your Father's name. How disappointed your mother must be, looking down at you.'

Florentine's face fell into a grim slouch.

'Just a bunch of kids rebelling for no good reason. You are interfering with matters you don't understand.'

'Matters we don't understand?' Through the fog of pain, I pulled myself to sit up. 'We're simply rebelling, you say?'

I was standing now, my legs wobbling, nothing in my control.

'I am rebelling. That much I'm assured,' I squeezed my fists, 'but to say that what we're doing means nothing is damning. You _murdered_ Bosmer; you colluded with the Thieves of the Wood to corrupt our sovereignty. Your disregard for the people living in the shadow, those with no name and never will become anything you respect, must stop. You _will_ be stopped by us.'

Waterfalls of rainwater fell in great pillars to the forest floor. The accumulation of the various layers of tree gathered water until it was substantial enough to bend a branch. The flood was ankle deep, but the thirst of the forest kept it from getting any higher. The Tam'Akar lieutenant stood silently as the forest remained a world of water. Her golden gaze glowed through that veil of mist.

'By all of us,' Elren said, pulling up next to me. He took my hand with his and gave it a little squeeze before facing forward.

'You three seem to have a death wish,' Florentine said.

'Leave it be, Florentine.'

Esmond came up at her right flank through the underbrush, his eyes trained on the Altmer.

'You?' For a brief moment, that flawless face broke into worry. It was satisfying to witness. 'Shouldn't you be dead?'

'Why does everyone expect me to die so easily?' Esmond sneered.

'Aridiil isn't one to leave loose ends.' Florentine raised her hand towards Esmond. 'I'm always looking after his mistakes anyways.'

A lance made of stone shot out of Florentine's palm hurdling straight for Esmond's head. But the mage didn't as much as flinch at the sudden strike. He raised a single finger as the barbed spike reached him. A single beam of focused fire-induced magicka zipped through the air to meat Florentine's spell, and the two cancel each other out.

Florentine took a step back as she realized the weight of the situation. We outnumbered her. Although, I believed that if she had to, she would be able to take all of us on without breaking a sweat. From what I've seen of the woman Altmer, she was more than capable of destroying an entire Quiver within the Ranger Guard effortlessly. 'Well, you're lucky this time Esmond Flowers.'

'I've denounced that surname a long time ago.' Esmond gritted his teeth.

The revelation took me by surprise.

'How about the son of—'

'Leave, Florentine. Or you will die here.'

She surveyed us with those yellow eyes one last time, looking from Elren, to me, to Aranwen, and finally to Esmond. Her eyes seemed to have drifted off into the distance as if something more interesting caught her attention. No one else noticed, but I did. I followed her stare outward towards the line of twisted root and underbrush. Straining my eyes as hard as they could bear, I saw the form of an elf. He watched from the shadows as still as a stone statue, unwavering.

'I'm no fool,' she said, turning away from the shadow. 'But I'll leave you all with this one message: Know that you all are children in a game not built for children. You are all missing the point. What we do is for the prosperity of all elven kind, and it will do well if you all cooperate so that none of you will see early graves.'

And with that she spun on a heel, her boots squealing in the mud and her cloak whipped in the winds. We watched her go, first becoming a shadow then nothing at all.

I watched her go. Every step she took, my hatred grew. Something inside of me changed upon meeting her, seeing what she could do, and how she thought of people who were lesser to her. They called Aridiil the Nefarious, but what do they call her? And just how much eviler does the Altmer who control the Aldmeri Dominion get? It made my blood boil and chill simultaneously. I knew now that in this world, any hesitation will get you killed. See your friends die, your own head cut from the rest of your body. Not me. Not Milkar and his dream. If they want to try me, then they'll have to try hard.

Elren craned his head back towards the silhouette. I hadn't expected him to spot the same thing Florentine and I did. 'Milkar is here,' he said.

Milkar emerged from the storm, eyes trained on me. Florentine's face had turned white under her golden-hued skin, and I wondered why. My brother was the closest any of us was to Mother's skill in battle. If I was that Altmer, I'd have left too.

The typhoon still pounded Valenwood with no end in sight. Any evidence of the Hall of Heroes had been burned away and cleaned by the heavy rain and wind. It was a sad thought. Very little survived the blast, causing us to leave promptly. Firstly, the Ranger Guard would have arrived. They would ask us questions upon questions, having in mind that someone attacked the Hall. Then the Aldmeri Dominion would come, and that's when we'll surely be in trouble. The Dominion was always the problem.

'Your sword, Milkar.' I displayed Pondus across my hands to my brother.

Milkar made no hesitation to don his new sword. The Bosmer who would usurp the corrupted here in Valenwood holds the sword that the Camoran Usurper once wielded.

Although there was some truth to Florentine's words where we were just kids playing an adult game, we knew that there would be no one else to run it. I, myself knew that what I was doing here was a mere adolescent cry against my father and everyone else who thought that could control my life, but I didn't care. I wanted the freedom to forge my own path all the way to the point where I would deny the Divines their right to my life. That is what I wanted—to deny any destiny that I didn't control myself. On this path, there are real problems that the people around me must face. Elren saw the death of his family; that is his reason why he will follow Milkar. Aranwen and I see the truth in my brother; we knew that if there was anyone that can win, it would be him. He was like Mother. And there was no stopping him.

'They know who we are now.' Aranwen frowned.

Milkar nodded and rubbed his brother's shoulder. 'Don't worry, Aranwen. They will be wary of us; they will keep an eye out. But they won't dare interfere.'

'Who attacked us then?' I asked.

Milkar scanned the forest, not looking for anything but just analyzing. 'It was him—the leader of the Thieves of the Wood.'

Elren released a sigh full of sorrow. 'Monsotar Hanseed.'

'You know him.'

Elren nodded. 'He helped locate my clan for the Tam'Akar, but they betrayed him.'

'The Tam'Akar offered Monsotar Augoth Thornbush in return for their location. But the High Elves didn't want the secret of the _Ghost_ _Flame_ to land in anyone else's hands. In the end, Monsotar got away with Augoth.' Milkar rummaged through a pocket satchel and withdrew a small vial with a flowing red liquid. He offered it to me, and I took it. 'Monsotar didn't expect Esmond's betrayal. We found out the plot to eradicate Elren's clan and, so we took measures to prevent it. Needless to say, we failed. But not without gain. I managed to allow Monsotar to leave unharmed if it meant giving up Esmond as a sacrifice.'

'Which I still hate you for,' Esmond interjected.

'Your illusion magic helped us fool the Tam'Akar. But when Aridiil found out it was you, he threw you in prison instead.'

How or what kind of power does Monsotar possess to do,' I waved around, 'this?'

'That's a question we'll have to ask Augoth Thornbush ourselves.'

Augoth Thornbush, the man who gave Mother her power over the _Ghost Flame_. When we first met the old master enchanter, he didn't seem like much. Just a cowardly old man trying to flee the shackles of tyrant kingpin. I tried to imagine what sort of enchantment could level an entire Graht-Oak, but I was having a hard time doing so. It isn't to say that there aren't powerful enchantments, but never one as powerful. Mother's power was supposed to combine conjuration and destruction magicks. Her power granted her an otherworldly flame from the depths of Oblivion. Father once recalled seeing the violet embers that radiated no heat but would turn flesh into ash faster than the most potent flame spell. It's kind of hard to fathom magic like that existed in our world, but there are also tales of human men able to through entire legions of people with a whisper of their voice. Our grey-skinned brethren in the North worshipped a trio of gods that could make anything possible. Some say they were in fact gods, and others say they were just mighty and immortal Dunmer, but even if there were beings like that existing, what difference do they compare to the Divines?

Can this Augoth Thornbush give a mortal the power of a god in the form of a sword or suit of armor? Does Monsotar wield such a weapon?

'What do we do now?' I asked my brother.

The rain began to subside, and the whipping winds died down to a bustling breeze enough to rustle my brother's cape.

'We find Augoth Thornbush,' Milkar shrugged, 'then we start a war.'


	8. A Raven's Path Across the Crescent Moons

_Too many disappointments are usually a sign of too many expectations. I had expectations held against me. They wanted an eagle and instead, they got a raven._

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Chapter 8: A Raven's Path Across the Crescent Moons

The raven symbolizes luck, whether it be good or bad. I think they get condemnation in the sense that they mean no harm to us. They're intelligent messaging birds, some even say they spread the call of Nocturnal, the embodiment of mystery and shadow. A raven is a bird, with all its negative connotations, that represents the thief most precisely. These black-sleeked birds are heralds of tomorrow as their very cry denotes that. Rousers of the night, flying through the twilight as the sun dips below the horizon.

I stood above all Valenwood, on the very top of Shimmer Root. The waning moons shone their ruby and silver light, illuminating the sky with their duo of colors. Grahtwood stretched out for a hundred leagues in all directions. A massive sea of glowing hues shining their own beauty to the world. The occasional Graht-Oak poked through that sea, towering over their children like giants to a woman. Valenwood was truly the garden of Tamriel. We needed to preserve it—protect it.

My journey into a life of larceny, rebellion, and liberating began as a way to rip myself away from the expectations of people who would deny me my choice. It had now evolved into so much more. Meeting individuals like Elren, Esmond, and seeing my brother's dream from my own eyes, this wish to delve deep into shadow has become far larger than what I originally wanted. I finally have found what I _need_ to be doing instead of what I or anyone else desired.

It was time to show the world that I didn't need to be the next Ara Lockharte. Instead, I'll become a name people will ask others not to speak.

I raised my hand to the humid, night air. A breeze wrapped my new vambrace with the heat and moisture of the forest. In the distant, a loud _caw_ resounded, growing closer. A black feathered bird streaked across the dark stretch—a shadowy spec across the vastly star-peppered sky. The bird was small, about half my head, and its eyes were as black as the Void. It landed on my outstretched arm.

I pulled open a small metal container attached to its ankles, a small note squeezed out from inside.

'Those birds have taken a liking to you.'

Elren emerged from the Broadleaves, sparkling petals danced about him. He was as quiet as ever, never making a sound, dangerously sneaky.

'Brother calls us,' I told him. 'He's found Augoth Thornbush.'

'We should go then.'

I scanned the wide horizon. The brilliant radiance of the forest was a spectacle of luminescence. I've never seen other provinces, but it was to my understanding that their trees and flora hadn't even the slightest of brilliance, nor did they have the blood of Y'ffre to give them the gift of light.

It's an old tale the priests and shamans would tell the people. Y'ffre, the first of the Ehlnofey, came to Tamriel and taught the first of the Bosmer. When he was laid to rest, the forests of Valenwood drank his blood and began to emit his light. Of course, this was during the Merethic Era—a time veiled by myth and conjecture.

I made a promise then. To do whatever it took to protect that radiance. And in order to protect Valenwood, Milkar's dream has to come to fruition, no matter what.

It soon became clear, since meeting Elren and finding my brother's secret, and myself becoming a criminal, that I will eventually have to use all my training. There isn't going to be any childish beliefs and opinions. There is only acting, the job, and the team. My position in this world was becoming clearer and clearer each, and every day Milkar would show us what's behind the veil of shadows that have hidden the truth of Nirn from all of us. We have learned things that we will never forget, and it is for that I will always be thankful for my brother. This is the path that I want to take. I thought I was preparing to become my mother's vessel all my life, but it was _this_ that I was preparing for. All those years with my bow in hand, calluses hardening, sword swinging, fist and knife fighting, and strengthening my mind and body to the hardship of a warrior has prepared me to walk through the shadows as a rogue.

To have Elren by my side is a blessing wrapped as a gift from the Divines. As the world becomes more serious to us, his smile often fades.

I let the bird fly off with its flock—an unkindness.

We met Milkar in a field between Shimmer Root's massive root walls. He focused on the length of the tree, following its trunk up and past the forest's roof of green and into the heavens.

'Taking stock of the bark?' His emerald eyes sparkled with every petal that floated across his them.

'Did you know, sister, that this tree can house an army?' He asked me.

'I thought you were building a guild, not an army.'

'Valenwood's problems can only be solved from the shadows. A rogue is nothing, but a warrior draped in shadow, doing what we can't do in the light.'

'Which is why I'm here, Milkar. By your side, I know that we can save our home. And I will stop at nothing until we realize that dream. Even if I have to plunge into the darkest depths of the Void for that.'

Milkar considered me for a long while, watching me with those green eyes. I matched his gaze with all the fire ablaze in my heart. The Thieves of the Wood, the Tam'Akar, Father and his Ranger Guard, and the Aldmeri Dominion will bend to me no matter what.

I learned that my path has always been in the shadow. I had always viewed the world with darkness in my eyes. Tutor Rollyn tried to beat it from me. He told me a child shouldn't think like I did. It was always the way I handled certain situations that got me in trouble. It wasn't the way Ara did it he'd say. A damsel in distress, locked in her tower for all to see. Sneak into the tower, save the bitch; is that the right way? When is it ever that simple? Capture the lord who locked her up, cut his fingers off, and the woman saves herself.

But I had faults, they all knew that, and I didn't care to hide it. All my life, I was someone's second. On this path, I'm second to none.

'Augoth Thornbush is not far,' Milkar informed us. He started walking away from Shimmer Root.

'Why just the three of us?' Elren asked.

'I'm no follower of Nocturnal, but even I can tell when you possess her favor.' Milkar walked and talked with his back to us. 'Leila, you've battled with two of the Tam'Akar and survived. Elren has to.'

I scoffed. 'The both of us fought a tenth of Florentine's abilities, and she threw us around like children in a flower field, and I had Rollyn at my side that day.'

Milkar stopped in the stillness of the night. 'You underestimate yourself, Leila. Your genius, your talents, everything that makes you will soar you into the night as you wish to. Never have I ever seen a child of your age face off with such a force without fear in their eyes. You are frightening in all aspects. So frightening that your presence will make the average quake, the weak will look down as they approach you on the road, and men double your age will lose to you.'

The intensity of Milkar's voice sent chills down my spine and back up. There was a sharpness to him, something that no one can challenge.

'Strive, Leila. Look deep inside you, and there you will see a potential larger than Mother's can stretch. You are a raven with a raven's path. Heralding the night, _my_ night. Without you, I will fail. I see that now.'

'Tell me,' I said. I wasn't convinced. 'Why did Florentine decide to run when she saw you lurking in the shadows? Why did Aridiil leave me to live without saying a word when you were out there?' The questions pressured my mind ever since my encounters with the Tam'Akar inquisitors. Two of the strongest mages that I've ever seen turned down a chance to take the heads of the Lockharte siblings. It seemed odd.

'How strong are you, brother?' I asked. 'What is the true level of Milkar Lockharte.'

Elren turned to me and smirked.

My brother said nothing more, and we continued our journey in silence.

* * *

I've seen the dwellings of humans and other races around Tamriel. Nothing they've built was as practical and right as the dwellings of Bosmer culture. Their unnatural structures made from stripping their forests for wood, raping their lands of its longest-lived beings. They grew towers made of stone and metals; they never allow the natural forces to help them find better ways to live.

The tree had the manor tucked away within its bowels, swathed in the shadow of the night. Home singers sing our homes into life, turning a tree into someplace we can live in. The Thieves of the Wood were all Bosmer that should know to respect the forest that Y'ffre bestowed us. I wondered if the simple principles that govern our forests have blown over Monsotar's head. His actions and the actions by his guild doesn't reflect any sort of respect for our traditions. He's a scourge for the people, and we need to take him out.

The manor was a grand thing, not much larger than the Hall of Heroes, but much more than my own him, Spring Garden Manor. A spiral staircase led into the base of the tree with the only other exits being onto the first coiled branch. Three other openings were just outlooks and half balconies for Monsotar's thieves. Warm lights flickered inside, spilling out into the night.

Milkar, Elren, and I hid among the surrounding forest, scanning the manor.

'How many can you count outside?' Milkar asked.

I ran my eyes from its base and up across dozens of paces to every window. The Thieves of the Wood scoured the _manorpod_ like termites. They moved in twos, some groups consisting of up to four of the leather-armored Bosmer. My mind raced over the many ways I could take them out, secretly and in the shadows like Tutor Rollyn taught me. Because of the bleeding eight years of training, my mind sizes up a potential opponent like I was bred to do. 'He's got an entire army here,' I told him. 'More inside.'

'Any openings?'

I sighed. 'A single doorway into the manor from the lowest most branch. Look,' I pointed upward, 'we can use the trees for cover.'

'More in the trees,' Elren cut in.

I didn't see them at first, but they were there. Thieves, no, Nightblades, hidden in the shadows as we were. I considered Elren for a moment. With no formal training like I had, he has shown to be my equal in every aspect. I wondered what sort of life the boy endured before I met him.

'Good catch, Elren.' Milkar patted Elren's back. 'You and Leila working together, you both will accomplish amazing things.'

Elren smiled at me. Something hot burned in the middle of my stomach and flushed my face and neck with heat. I quickly glanced away back at the Nightblades. Their presence was faint, but the moon's strong night gleamed against their weapons. It wasn't always smart, people who look for extra mobility often choose not to sheathe their weapons in scabbards. It's a risk when the light finally hits them. This time, these warrior-thieves only expected to skulk and not be skulked on.

'All of this for one Mer?'

'Not just any Mer,' Milkar said. 'Augoth Thornbush, creator of the _Ghost Flame_ and an enchanter capable of making weapons that could heel an Empire.'

It struck me odd that Milkar decided to call on Elren and me to take on this task instead of the more experienced Esmond and Aranwen. This was far out of our league. These Bosmer would not hesitate to kill either of us if it came down to it. 'But why an army?' I asked.

'He's expecting more. Which is why we have the advantage. We'll sneak in and rescue Augoth Thornbush.'

'Rescue? He seems...comfortable.'

'They're holding him captive. Augoth Thornbush has tried several times to escape Monsotar. They make him create weapon after weapon, milking him as if he were a cow. Do you know how he enchants his creations?'

I shook my head slowly.

'Not by conventional means. His hands are marked with his powers, blessed my Magnus himself. His ancestors touched the Eye of Magnus in the First Era. Every child since then can enchant almost anything. Make a rock give you unnatural speed or a wall that teleports you anywhere on Nirn. His power is boundless—he can even enchant living things. All without an arcane table.'

'Mother.'

Milkar nodded. 'It was thanks to that Bosmer, Mother was able to defeat the Daedra horde during the Oblivion Crisis.'

'If that's the case, why aren't there hundreds of mortals running around with the same powers as Mother?'

'His ability has its limits.' Milkar felt his nose ring, lost in thought. 'His hands become terribly scarred after making one of his creations. Mother's power set him back one hundred and forty years. But now that Monsotar has gotten a hold of him, and I'm afraid it's too late.'

A mere week has passed since the wall of flames took down the Hall of Heroes. So many people died. Supporters of the Aldmeri Dominion sucking on the tit of Elven supremacists, the survivors are all still healing and in hiding. Aranwen said that it was Monsotar wielding a golden sword, its power was stronger than anything he's ever seen. Just what did Augoth create for the leader of the Thieves of the Wood? Even among the Thornbush clan, Augoth was especially talented. Which is why he is prized by criminal organizations and because of his abilities, my brother wants to keep him safe which will, in turn, keep Valenwood safe.

The Bosmer surrounding the manor didn't seem like a threat, which was probably why they stood in high numbers. The Nightblades waiting among the canopy high above were dangerous. Esmond was once a Nightblade for the Woods in a time before I was born. His talents astound me even now. There wasn't any way we could match that.

'Stay with the shadows,' Milkar informed us. 'Don't kill, but if you must. We don't know where's Augoth's location exactly, but search among the center.'

'What about you?' Elren asked. 'What are you going to do?'

'The Nightblades.' Milkar pointed up. 'They'll see you. I'm going to make sure they don't.'

That answer was good enough for Elren but not for me. 'Not by yourself,' I protested.

'I have the easier job tonight, Leila. This will be your test. Get Augoth out of there alive.'

'You—'

Milkar closed himself from me. My brother trained his eyes on the task at hand. I've seen my brother fight before, countless times. But did I really see him fight? During those days before Tutor Rollyn took me under his wings, watching Milkar train, he looked like a bored cow, meticulously combing through opponents like flat teeth stripping grass. I remembered Florentine's face when she spied him in the shadows, her eyes fell grim as if she'd met her maker in the flesh. Milkar hides his strength from me, I knew that but why? I never wanted to underestimate my own blood. Maybe someday I will know the extent of our potential.

Elren tightened the leather straps on his vambraces and foot wrappings. I did the same, eyes focused ahead. Elren would take the only openings up high in the boughs. My target was one of the many occupied windows. Which meant that I would definitely have an encounter with one of Monsotar's men. This was what we've all been waiting for. Augoth Thornbush was somewhere in there waiting for us to rescue him. It was obvious that Monsotar didn't want anyone else to have him. But the days where the Thieves of the Wood would facilitate the corruption infesting in Valenwood are quickly coming to an end.

I could feel it. My path opening wide for me. It isn't a trail in a deep forest. It isn't in some wasteland. It's in the skies, open and free, the view of a bird surrounded by twilight, spearheading into the night.

Milkar gave the signal, a mixed gesture with his fingers. His plan was to take out the Nightblades without alerting the rest of Monsotar's men. He leaped quickly and scaled branch after branch in quick succession, ascending the tree with precise, nimble flexibility. After he disappeared behind the thickness of the tree. It was our turn. How he was going to defeat dozens of Nightblades, I didn't know. But I was curious to see how it would turn out. I trusted my brother and his ability now.

I turned to Elren and nodded. He grabbed the nearest vine and gave it a tug. Without animalistic strength, he kicked off the bough and swung into a blur. I took up a vine of my own. The fleshy length of it felt rough in my hands, good for grip. Climbing and swinging through the forest is something as natural as archery for a Bosmer. We were born and raised to know the forests inside and out. In these jungles, if you didn't know how to navigate through the trees, death would surely claim you. I pull the vine straight, it's length reaching a hundred feet towards the forest floor. That's a long drop. There's no accepting failure.

I kicked off the bark with all my might. The for a moment I felt that feeling—that call from that night when I met Elren. The exhilaration coursing through me at lightning speeds. This was the call of the raven, soaring through the night sky. The winds pulled at my hair as the rest of me sliced through. There was no better high with no better fall. At the height of my swing, I released. My arms stretched out like a bird, my shadow painted against the light of the crescent moons. Where just children searching for a place in the world, on Nirn, waiting and waiting for the right moment where we can etch our names in this existence. The shadows, the shadows are what guides me now. I can feel the inky darkness wrapping itself around me like a blanket, protecting me. I looked down, scanning the base of the tree as I flew. A few moments stretched out into eternity; I wished they'd look up to a see a raven soar past the night sky.

I twisted my body, I had to time this right. As Nirn called me back to the ground, I angled my body, twisting my waist, and sending my body into a spiral. The window grew closer, larger, and I spear into it. With my arms stretched out, I caught onto two hanging vines. They cried and crunched at the strain of my falling body until I slowed enough to land softly inside the window. There was no alarm sound, no alert among the thieves, everyone went on about their night as if nothing but a whisper of air had passed above. Surely the Nightblades that were hidden in the canopies above would have seen me, or I did underestimate Milkar.

The room was quiet. The darkness peeled back by the moonlight slipping through the forest ceiling. Crier Fly lanterns dimly lit the manor. Vicious little critters with a nasty taste for blood. They emit a steady and bright glow that was a healthy alternative to candles.

There was nothing worth noting in the room. But I knew I was close to the inner sanctum of the manor.

Slowly, I held my body close against the leaf-veil, peeking into the hall. Two Woods members stood at the end of the hall locked in conversation. There was nowhere else to go besides through them. I sighed. The plan was not to kill anyone unless I absolutely needed to. There was nothing said about putting them out for the night. My training was clear and fresh in my mind. I could never forget all that I've been through to learn the skills that I possessed.

I took a deep breath and went for it.

I burst through the leaf-veils and darted down the hall. The first thief didn't notice me right away, only until I was a few paces from him. His obliviousness made it easier. I leaped above his head, grabbing a handful of hair as I glided over him. His long, flowing locks gave me all the grip I needed, I pulled him down with me as I landed, he followed head first to the ground. With a loud thud, he was out cold before I finished the deed. The next Bosmer had allowed his reflexes to throw his guard up, his hand was traveling towards his belt knife, but I quickly grabbed his hand with my left and climbed the length of his body. I wrapped my legs around his neck and pulled him to the ground with the weight of my body. I watched as his face purpled under the pressure of my clamped thighs. His cries came out as mere choked whispers; I applied more pressure to the blood vessels in his neck. He went limp within a minute.

I looked down at the damage I'd done. Two grown Mer laid unconscious on the ground. Their bodies probably won't be discovered for another hour or two. Time was running out.

I sprinted through the corridors, each one like the previous, empty. I couldn't help but notice the emptiness of it all. It wasn't until I reached a grandiose stair did I know I was in the main quarters. Elren must have run into some trouble along the way, but the plan wasn't to help each other, we both had to reach here or don't.

I descended a set of stairs into a foyer. In a Graht-Oak dwelling or any sort of home sung dwelling, the forest created everything. Each wall and ground created with layers and layers of crossing and knotted wood.

I spun around a corner to a massive leaf-veil guarded by a single Nightblade. His eyes caught mine and we watched each other for what felt like forever.

He didn't move, he didn't even blink an eye. Stepping back wasn't an option, I had to get into that room.

'Well?' He inquired. 'Make your move.' A smile flittered across his mouth.

He wore an intricately designed armor made of bone, steel, and leather. Like what the Wild Hunters wore during Hircine's summoning day. A wicked set of armor. Not even my Osseinium dagger would be able to pierce that reinforced plating. And he's a Nightblade—every instinct in me told me not to fight this mer. Augoth Thornbush was in that room he guarded, and the job won't be over until I retrieve him.

I slipped my dagger from my belt, twirling my wrist to conform to its weight. It felt right, although a sword would have been a better advantage. A dagger gives me mobility and speed. The Nightblade was obviously stronger than me, but my speed gave me the edge.

I pounced in fast. I attacked away from his sword arm, bouncing up the wall to drive force against the bone and steel plate mail. The Nightblade straightened his arm and cast me aside. I hit the wall hard, throwing me in a daze I couldn't overcome before his foot had me sprawled across the floor. I double my roll before another armored foot crushed my skull, lashing out with my dagger. Its blade inched in but did minor damage.

The door behind us was a mere few paces away. Just a little more and Augoth would be in our hands. Perhaps this was all too easy; perhaps something bad was meant to happen here.

My body still on the ground, I intertwined my legs around his ankle and twisted my weight. He dragged his sword across the ground only giving me moments to move my neck from its path. He fell as a rolled. We were locked in a struggle as I carried my dagger close to a gap in his armor. All my weight pressed down on the hilt, but he held us suspended just above it. His eyes held mine as I pressed harder and harder, squeezing every pound of weight I had on to the top of my blade. I never watched the eyes of an opponent as I beat them. And now I'd gladly do it as I killed one.

In his eyes I only found amusement.

A kick sent me backward, blood filling my mouth.

'Fuck.'

My dagger skidded away.

The Nightblade stood afar. He cracked his neck side to side with a nasty little smile crossing his lips as he made slow steps forward.

'Who in Oblivion do you think you are?' The Nightblade asked. 'Coming in here believing you could take me down?'

'I'm here for Augoth Thornbush. I know he's just beyond that leaf-veil. No one will stop me from reaching him.' I stared into my would-be killer's eyes. They were dark.

He approached cautiously, the tip of his blade ready to cut at the slightest flex of a muscle. 'It's a shame the Tam'Akar sent such a young girl only to fail in her mission. A damned shame indeed.'

I thought about what he said for a moment. 'I'm not Tam'Akar. I'm...' I didn't have an answer for him. There weren't any, we were nameless.

'Hmm?' His advance faltered. 'Not Tam'Akar? Who in Oblivion are you then?'

'I—'

The leaf-veil slid open to the side, revealing Elren with Augoth curling behind him.

'What?'

Elren stood in a frozen step, wide-eyed. A mysterious reaction drew grief on his face. Any escape he warranted was drowned the moment he opened the leaf-veil.

'Uncle Rindiel.' Elren's mouth seemed animated, numb even. 'You're working for Monsotar? Why?'

'Interesting.' Rindiel raised his sword above his head.

Elren fired a throwing knife at such a speed, his hand only seemed to flick. The knife ripped cleanly through the fatty side of the Nightblade's hand, causing him to drop his sword. Rindiel reeled backward, closer to me now. I punched the back of his knees and watched him crumble to the ground.

'Why?' Elren asked again.

'You're supposed to be dead.' Rindiel coughed. 'How did you survive?'

'Why are you here?'

'Isn't it obvious? Dense child.'

Elren made his way over. I could have ended the Nightblade's life in a moment. The intensity in Elren's glare told me not to.

'Mother. Everyone. They're all dead now. Monsotar helped kill them, why do you work for him?'

Trying to nurse a bleeding hand, Rindiel looked up at his nephew. 'You little mutt-blooded... Those fools are dead because of your mother and that bastard Imperial she fucked.'

Elren's eyes widened further. He took a step back as if he didn't know what to make of the new revelation. In some instances, pieces to a puzzle he's been working out were coming together, in other instances, they were falling out of place. I'd never seen anyone in such emotional pain, and I didn't think Elren of all people was capable of the turmoil.

Elren's hand wrapped around the hilt of another knife and with quick flicks of the wrist three more embedded themselves in Rindiel. One to pin both hands down and another flown across the inner embankment of his thigh. Blood gushed a deep red like the rose water in Silvenar's fountains. My guess was that he had only a few mins to live after that.

Rindiel fell back heavily panting. He knew his number was up. A flash of guilt covered his face.

'Confess, Uncle.' A single tear escaped Elren's eye.

'You...Your mother brought shame to our clan when she allowed... your human father in.' He heaved. 'I hated her for that.'

'Oh, dear,' Augoth Thornbush said. 'Oh, dear...'

'You didn't understand what you being half-breed meant for us. We were shunned.'

'Me?' Elren shook his head slowly. 'The Tam'Akar and Monsotar killed them because they wanted their secrets.'

'Just kill me!' Rindiel demanded through gritted teeth. 'Kill me and be done with it! Your mother forced the clan to betray themselves, it forced us to seek Monsotar for protection! I allowed Monsotar to sell you off to the Tam'Akar as long as I had a place among his Woods. As punishment for your mother's desecration!'

'You're a fool,' I said. 'You didn't realize that the Tam'Akar wanted all the Greenpact Bosmer dead? You only helped them advance their agenda by killing your own family.'

'I didn't know that, but it's too late now. The deed is done.'

Elren slumped to his knees then.

I sighed and reached for my dagger slowly. There wasn't any need to rush now. I placed the blade gently against his neck and looked down at him.

'There are pieces in this word,' I began softly, 'some small, some big. They all make one large picture. It's not the size of the piece that matters, it's the value. Some pieces may not show anything, some are revealing. You're nothing.' I tipped his head towards Elren. 'You see him? He's your defining piece. You? You're just a lost piece that didn't mean anything.'

I looked into his eyes. 'There are survivors of your clan. Hundreds of them.' His eyes widened. 'Elren's going to lead them someday. And they'll all spit on your corpse.'

Before I could drag my dagger across the flesh of the Bosmer that initiated the death of Elren's clan, Elren placed his hand on mine. I looked at my friend and considered him for a fleeting moment. Any pain that resided behind those deep brown eyes disappeared. 'He'll come after you,' I said.

'It doesn't matter,' he replied. 'My father and mother would not have done it. I must take the path of strength.'

I winced. 'Not now you don't.'

Elren slowly shook his head, and I withdrew my blade from Rindiel's neck. I towered over him. Ending his life would've brought me satisfaction, but nothing would have changed for Elren. His mother would still be dead, his father, his entire family, would all still be gone. We hadn't even the slightest clue where the survivors of his clan hid, but here was the first clue he's got after an entire year.

'I—uh...' Augoth stuttered. 'There are more coming.'

'Shit.' Thieves began pouring down the corridor from both ends.

Rindiel's sword made a good weapon for me. If I was going to die, I wanted to die fighting. The knot of angry Bosmer thieves gathered around us, arrows trained on our chests; knives and blades ready to prod us into Oblivion. Any death offered from here on out was going to be painful.

'Now is the time to show them what we're made of, Elren.'

'Milkar said discretely,' Elren grumbled.

'Also, nice to see you're not the emotionless Draugr I thought you were.'

'What's a Draugr?'

The first _twang_ of a bowstring sounded off. Years after years of practicing dodging arrows at various speed taught me to recognize the sound, learn from where it came from, and take the proper precautions in not having it poking new holes in me. Only back then, the arrows weren't tipped and barbed.

I tilted my head aside as the arrow cut through the air only a pace from my head. Time slows when you're dodging such speeds with little distance. Almost impossible, but fully there. It takes someone of great skill and mastery of their body. I once saw Tutor Rollyn stop an arrow by halting it at the shaft at point blank range.

Another arrow cuts through the narrow space, running a long, bloody line through the flesh of my shoulder. A gasp escaped me, and I slammed myself against the wall, giving them a narrower target. Closing the gap between us at great speeds before the next arrow was nocked to the bowstring, I managed to cut through his bow with the sword. A look of shock wrote over the thief's face. The sword came up and slices through his leather easily enough, he fell, still alive, but the wound fatal. The clash of metal and mer behind me told me that Elren was holding his own. Four thieves pounced on me at once. Their snarling growls were eager to spill my blood. Dodging their attacks wasn't easy.

The corridor smelled of blood, sap, and sweat.

A Bosmer with two pigtail braids running down her body, another with too many scars on his face, a dark-skinned, light-eyed Bosmer, and one too tall for his own good attacked at once. The narrowness of the hall made it easier to take them all once. I used the lankiness of the taller Bosmer against him. He reached with both arms for a grapple. I twirled inside his guard, not giving him the time to counter. I glided through his flank, carrying the sword's blade across his gut. He keeled over in a single breath. I was already parrying attacks by the dark-skinned Bosmer, his eyes desperate to end my life.

Over the years, I adopted Rollyn's ostentatious technique. It wasn't the two-step fighting done by royalty who would never see a real fight outside a training pit, but the precision and "glide" movements of speed and meticulous accuracy. Like a dance to a ballroom song. It took flexibility and key moves that wasted little to no energy, leaving you in desirable angles that your opponent otherwise couldn't reach. These thieves fought roughly—with not much accuracy. I accounted for their speed, but my precise movements gave me the advantage every time.

Dark-skin fell with a bloody wound across his body from shoulder to hip. Pigtail and Scarface were glad for the giving room; no moment was spared for their comrade. The scar-faced Bosmer jabbed his knife aimed at my gut, I caught his arm before the slick blade could pierce my flesh as the forced of the jab pushed me against the wall. I reached with my free hand and pulled on his armor, bringing him closer to me but keeping the knife hand bent. His ugly scars made a map of his face. If they wanted rough, then I will surely give it to them. My teeth sunk into his nose and ripped it from his face, leaving my mouth full of blood. He cried out, pulling away from me now, but I held him in my grip.

The pig-tailed Bosmer woman tried and failed at reaching around her friend. When his body went limp, I threw him onto her and skewered them with my sword. Bone and sinew parted for the blade, and blood spilled across the ground.

Elren was locked in a struggle against a single opponent. Dead bodies lay at his feet. The Bosmer thief had the jump on him, pinning him to the wall, his back exposed to me. I grabbed my dagger and sent it soaring through the air and into his lungs. He died instantly. His body fell away, exposing a panting Elren.

'So much for not killing anyone,' I said.

Elren pushed off the wall. 'We had no choice.'

Augoth, who'd coward back into the room emerged again. The old master enchanter looked down both sides of the corridor and sighed. 'They're going to kill us!'

'Not if you come with us, old man.'

'You're that girl.' His eyes ran over my face. 'Where am I going?'

'If you stay here, you die. If you come with us, you live. And not just live but get your freedom back.'

'I—'

'We don't have time,' Elren interjected. 'We'll have to leave through a window.'

'What about your uncle? Leave him to live, and he'll tell Monsotar who you are.'

Elren bit the inside of his lip. 'I want him to,' he said, finally.

I knew from my long training years that mercy can sometimes come back to bite you in the ass. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it will definitely come. I wasn't going to take it away from him. Elren was a brave and caring soul, and he isn't the type of person I could see taking the path of revenge.

Elren knelt beside his uncle's body; he wasn't dead but not entirely alive. Slipping his hand over the jaw, Elren slowly opened Rindiel's mouth. He dug in a pocket and withdrew a small vial of a reddish liquid, obviously some a potion to heal the Bosmer's wounds. He left the vial, emptied of its contents, on the ground near Rindiel.

'If you feel it's the right thing then it is, Elren.' I placed a hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed slightly then relaxed in the same moment. 'Let's go.'

The nearest window was at the end of the corridor, a small hole dozens of paces above ground. 'Augoth will have to hold on to one of us,' I told Elren.

'I'll do it.' Elren pulled on the straps of his armor.

I searched the length of the tree for a free hanging vine. Finally finding one, I launched one of Elren's throwing knives cutting it loose and gave it a tug. Down below, the Thieves of the Wood were scrambling about like small ants over a pile of crushed fruit. They were alert to something, but I couldn't quite make out what.

I was the first to swing away from the window, jumping away with great speed. I looked up as the vine carried me across the tree's domain up and onto a neighboring tree branch.

A loud burst of flame mushroomed from the forest floor, and the screams began to carry on the wind. The explosion was so bright it lit everything surrounding, illuminating the forest canopy above. In mid swing, Elren's vine snapped. As both their bodies tumbled to the ground—catching and snatching on the twists and knots of the jungle flora, my breath caught in my throat. The flames carried across the ground, it wasn't something wild but a controlled winding power. A spell.

The Thieves of the Wood were under attack. That much I knew for sure, but from who or where was anyone's guess.

I began a quick descent down the tree, sliding down the moss-covered turns of the jungle. That apprehensive feeling twisted my gut when I hit the forest floor. The Thieves of the Wood, I knew, had enemies. The Tam'Akar being one of them. If Aridiil's team had ended up here, then there wasn't any guarantee we were getting out of here alive.

Through the brush, Monsotar's men poured from the _manorpod_ in droves. There were more than I thought, and their numbers gave me pause. What were we thinking, believing that five people can take on such a substantial force? The Woods' numbers must have reached into the thousands across Valenwood. They weren't an ordinary guild. More like an immense network, an army, if you will.

Too many of them fixed towards the far side of the _manorpod_ to give me a notice. I used that to my advantage. Creeping through the thicket towards the location where Elren and Augoth had fallen, I managed to pass their detection.

'Leila!'

I skidded to a stop behind the raised earth of a root wall. 'What?'

Milkar emerged from a fallen branch tunnel off the side of a hill. Two bows that weren't his in his hands; two swords, one long and one short strapped to his belt; and two quivers crossing his back. He tossed me a sword and a bow, and a quiver complete with an assortment of arrows. 'Take them.'

'I have to find Elren and Augoth.' I took up the weapons.

'I saw them fall,' Milkar said. 'They're just up ahead.'

'What's happening over there?'

'The Tam'Akar.' Milked bounded off. I followed.

Milkar told me about an army of Altmer marched here by Two Tam'Akar members. The prospect of battle two of those bastards at once frightened me to my core. But these days, I was tired of being afraid. I chose this path with all my courage intact. I won't let murderous bastards get in my way or my brother's.

As we navigated towards Elren, several thieves came too close to comfort. In a moment, we hid behind bush and growth. It was only a matter of time before we were spotted. There were just too many of them to hide from.

'Hey, you!' One of six thieves called out, alerting the rest of them.

I shrugged off my bow. I'd do well if I had my own, but a commandeered would serve me just fine.

'Stand back!' I called as they approached.

Just behind them, more and more thieves rushed past towards the sound of battle. They kept coming. I put an arrow in the nearest one.

It's a weird thing, killing that is. When you take the life of a mortal being, you watch their soul leave their body. Their connection with others become severed; their hopes and dreams end in the blink of an eye. It's a deal made by the Dread Father and Arkay—a life to the void kept and paid for.

The body fell to the ground before his comrades like a boneless pile, an arrow jutting from his neck. It took another of their numbers to fall to my arrow before they thought to attack me. I shot two more arrows, killing two more of their numbers.

My brother raised his brow. 'Let's clear a path to Elren.'

I nodded.

We emerged over the side of a ridge looking down at the scurrying thieves. Off to the east, a battle raged against what seemed like Dominion soldiers. Magic spells lanced into the air creating heavy explosions; arrows stormed in every direction, and the world filled with roars and death. The smell of blood tainted the air. This was the first actual battle I've witnessed in my life. There have been small skirmishes that Rollyn and I have experienced before. A bandit clan here, a robber's den there, but nothing on this scale.

Milkar withdrew Pondus, the steel long and hungry. 'Do you know what this sword's special ability is?'

'No, not really.'

'The Camoran Usurper conquered the lands faster than anyone has ever seen. His speed in battle was unmatched even with a sword as big as this one. Like him, I wish to move down this path into the underworld swiftly.'

I looked at my brother as if he was mad. 'Is there a point to this bantering?'

'Stay here,' Milkar said, a wry grin gently painting his face.

He was up to something. Milkar descended the ridge with his sword drawn, most of the thieves weren't giving him a second glance. I suppose with the fight with Dominion soldiers ahead, he would pass as an ally. The Thieves of the Wood weren't necessarily uniform, but every member wore a variant armor of the same ilk. Milkar and the rest of us were certainly the odd ones out. Only if you studied us for long. The desperate situation assured their attention was elsewhere. But it wasn't infallible. The thieves that did notice Milkar called on others to take him down.

I wanted to hop down and join him, but I had to trust in my brother. I never took him for an arrogant type, but he wanted to me that his skill was enough. He wanted to show me just how special he was. I was prepared to see his artistry.

Milkar trotted towards the waiting group of Woods members, each of them brandishing their own blades. My brother's moves were strategic, non-linear like most warriors, hopping and switching lead foot. It confused his opponents. When he finally reached them, he took his left arm and rested his the flat of his blade on his forearm and held the tip aimed at the nearest enemy.

'Get ready,' I whispered to myself.

Milkar jutted his sword forward which made the Bosmer man flail his arms in an attempt to jump back and dodge the attack; it left his entire torso open. Milkar spun around gathering force and slashed across his chest. Blood splashed to the dirt, and the man keeled over with force.

Perhaps my eyes deceived me, or perhaps this is what Milkar wanted to prove. In the split moments between breaths, Pondus flashed a bright white light, and Milkar disappeared.

Pondus, the legendary sword of the Haymon Camoran. It carried him from battle to battle, killing all enemies in his way. From Valenwood, through Cyrodiil, and finally reaching High Rock. This sword has seen the death of thousands of his enemies. Not to take away from the skill of the wielder, the sword has a hidden ability that no ordinary warrior can defeat. That was on display now.

He moved with lightning speed. What seemed like him disappearing was some wonderful, neat enchantment on that sword. I couldn't help but laugh, but I knew I was beside myself. Exhilaration, fear, amazement? All too small words for what I felt watching my brother bring death to his enemies.

'Leila, now!'

I hopped down from the ridge and ran towards Elren.

'That sword,' I began. 'How could have the Hart-King have fallen with that thing?'

'I should be careful though. It was _his_ son that brought chaos to this world.'

We found Elren and Augoth at the foot of the tree, mostly unharmed. I couldn't say my heart wasn't relieved to see them both alive. Augoth was the job, and Elren was my friend. I needed them alive.

'I'm out of throwing knives, and a dagger won't do much good,' Elren reported.

Milkar quickly gave Elren the extra sword. 'Do your best with that.'

Elren eyed the blade work and shrugged. 'Fine.'

'What's next?' I turned to my brother.

'Straight ahead.' He pointed his sword towards the battle.

Dominion soldiers clashed with thieves and Nightblades. It was an ugly bit. Death, not the battle itself. Death is always ugly. A fight is beautiful, though. It's like a dance, honestly. A dance ends when the sonnet has finished, both partners are tired, or the other is simply inadequate.

I knew Milkar's strategy—use the cover of the battle to escape. That was fine by me. This was the only path we could take—An unkind path set by the raven.

I took a step forward. 'Well. What are we waiting for?'


	9. Not A Thief, Not A Soldier

**The Circle of Seven : A group of Seven warriors that defeated the daedric horde spewing from three Great Oblivion gates in Valenwood's city, Arenthia. They and the survivors of the Bosmer army battled against a horde of Daedric creatures and closed the gates. (Standalone story in the making) Here are their relations to the timeline of _Through The Twilight._**

 **MEMBERS:**

 **Faeden Lockharte (Alive) - Leila's Father. Ambassador of Valenwood and Battlereeve of the Ranger Guard;**

 **Ara High-Arrow (Deceased) - Leila's Mother. Hero of Valenwood. Died in childbirth;**

 **Rollyn the Special (Alive(?)) - Leila's Tutor and Master. Last seen barely alive. Master of every weapon known to Tamriel; **

**Aridiil the Nefarious (Alive) - The Tam'Akar's Captain and Leila's nemesis;**

 **Black (Deceased) - The Khajiit assassin. Died sacrificing his life to steal the Sigil Stone of the last great gate;**

 **Symmone Flowers** **(Deceased) - Bosmer warrior of a prominent clan. Mother to Esmond. Strangled while pregnant during the Oblivion Crisis by her comrade and lover, Aridiil after he discovered her with child;**

 **Bo'Ghadar the Hammer (Deceased) - Died by Wood Orc clan customs; killed by his own son. Lived a happy life after fighting in the war against Mehrunes Dagon**

* * *

 _What's in between a thief and a warrior? Something that doesn't run when caught._

* * *

Chapter 9: Not A Thief, Not A Soldier

The battle fell in favor of the Woods, unsurprisingly so. The Altmer engaged the Bosmer in the uneven and confusing terrain of the forest. Although the Altmer may wield the superiority in the realm of organization, weapons, armor, and magical advantage, it would never be enough for a Bosmer force in their own home province, among the trees and confusion of the flora. Of course, there were wars between the Altmer and the Bosmer before, none would have gone in the former's favor deep in our jungles.

We avoided heavy knots of clashing bodies staying towards the outskirts. I spearheaded the group, Milkar close to my right with Elren and Augoth sticking behind.

Before me, three Dominion soldiers charged in to with their swords drawn. They were stragglers that strayed away from the center of the fight to recover from battles of their own. We kept our path straight with no avoidance. 'Get ready!' I called to my friends.

I could hear Augoth whimpering behind me. I'll show him just how strong I am.

I slid underneath the blade of the Altmer. His anger exhibited in his blood-curdling battle cry. Lines of blood escaped from a gash through his gums, running his teeth awash with red. He'd been in the battle already for quite some time. I raised my own sword to meet with him. His blade clashed with mine, sending sparks flying in all directions. I pressed my body hard against the pressure of his blow, effectively repelling the attack. Thieves and soldiers died around us still with much more to take a fallen comrade's place each time. I shed his strike off the blade I took off Rindiel, the tip of his sword following down the fuller. It allowed me to reach past his defense, tucking my blade under his wrist, and disarmed him. Quickly, I cut across his face.

A single yellow pupil stared back at me as if in death, he wanted to get a good look at his better.

The Thieves of the Wood engaged a furious battle with the soldiers of the Dominion. A quick survey of the battlefield revealed that there wouldn't be a clear winner. There were just too many advantages and disadvantages on both fronts. The Woods certainly had the advantage, but the Altmer were more disciplined, organized, and precise. The trees will save the thieves.

Milkar, Elren, and Augoth watched me from behind, their eyes full of curiosity.

'This way,' I said, pointing with my sword.

A sword is great and all, and I mastered my technique before my time with Tutor Rollyn was over, but there was something about wielding a bow that made me feel invincible. Surely it was my Bosmer blood, but I believe it due to not having to see the people you kill; the souls you send to Aetherius.

The best part about being an extra in a battle was not having to worry about striking your own. My arrows, fast and precise, fell everyone between us and getting out of here alive.

I spearheaded us through the thickest of the fight whilst Milkar kept them from our flanks, his new sword soaked in blood.

When my feet stopped splashing the sediments of gory mud, I knew we were through it. A few stragglers of the back forces attempted to intercept us. I nocked an arrow and fired through a head. The other one ended with an arrow through his heart.

'We're unscathed,' Elren told me when I approached him and Augoth.

'Good.' I nodded.

'Let's head on home.' My brother turned to.

And then he ghosted.

The lightning strike struck where he was standing. Something of that power and force sent us reeling into the nearest root wall. Milkar reappeared, his sword's enchantment activated.

'Oh no,' Augoth cried. 'It's...It's him!'

Dark fire ran through my veins, everything that made up my body began to boil. The sizzling smell of smoldering wood tickled my nose to the point of anger. No Bosmer can stand the smell of any plant life burning. It's written in our blood.

If it weren't for Pondus, Milkar would have been reduced to a pile of ash. Luckily Milkar wasn't ordinary.

 _Him_. Augoth had said.

Elren grounded his teeth so loud, I heard it over the cries of battle.

The Altmer emerged from the brush with a slow clap, a tight smile flashed on his golden face. Everything else went quiet, just his overstated stride towards the children of his old comrades filled the rest of the night.

'I expect as much from the children of Ara High-Arrow.' Aridiil watched us with those saffron eyes, piercing through the shadow of night into our heads. Those were the eyes of malevolent justice. 'Milkar, it's been quite some time. Glad you're doing well.'

'Aridiil!' My brother feigned rejoice. 'Didn't know you got invited to this party. You should have told me!'

Aridiil stepped past Milkar, the intensity between the two could freeze over Vvardenfell. In the days after facing off against him by my tutor's side, I felt stupid as any young girl would feel facing off against such a powerful mage. This was the Altmer that fought alongside my Mother and Father, there was not a chance I could have hidden my identity from him. And even so, my bout with his second in command would have placed me on his list of "people to make ash piles."

'Faeden's youngest.'

The centuries-old elf barely had a wrinkle to his face. In good Altmer nature, they aged slowly. He looked the youngest of all the living members of the Circle, but he could have been the oldest. Aridiil was the only Altmer among the group of warriors so he would have outlasted every one of them if it came down to age.

Over the moon cycles that have come and gone since my first encounter, I have acquired plenty knowledge about Father's old friend. He came here on a mission from the seedling radical political party at the turning of the fourth era. An emissary with one mission: to recreate the Aldmeri Dominion. It failed at first, of course, because of the legions pouring from the Deadlands. But the Oblivion Crisis could have been the best thing to have happened to little, fresh-faced Aridiil. Having indoctrinated the best and the strongest of the Altmer—their most prejudice—they were able to save their Crystal Tower. And even to have said it was _they_ who have saved the Bosmer as well. Of course, you can find Aridiil behind those rumors. What disgusts me about the entire story is that there are Bosmer who thought it true. And so, they overthrew the old regime.

Where were Valenwood's mighty heroes then?

Aridiil the Nefarious. The High Elf was closing on almost two centuries. But he looked like he could have just turned eighty springs alone. To Bosmer standards of course—humans call eighty their twilight years.

'Aridiil the Nefarious,' I said as he took slow, vigilant steps around me. 'If you're going to kill us, we're going to put up a fight.'

'Interesting,' Aridiil flustered. 'We've only just met, so I don't want to kill you. You _are_ the child of my closest friends, you know. I just want to know why you were escorting a person of interest to Thalmor justice. That's fair isn't it?'

Aridiil's hair held a powerful sheen of gold, straight as silk, and thin and long. I didn't notice it before, but he was strikingly handsome on all accounts. I would go as far as to say he was pretty.

But he was a murderous monster, seeking to ethnically cleanse the wild Bosmer.

I stopped my own thoughts for a minute and looked back at Elren. The boy was standing face to face with the dark soul that murdered his family, his people, his mother. Elren's features were dark. His eyes sunk into his face making those bright brown eyes become orbs of pure darkness. A single glistening drop of moisture tumbled down his broad forehead, becoming lost in his eyebrow. Elren's stance spoke the intent to kill. I would have to stop him from his revenge if it gave us the chance to survive the night.

I knew what it would take to fight Aridiil. I wasn't ready. Nor do I believe Elren was ready. Since meeting him, though, the boy has astounded me how skillful, yet wild, his battle skill was. He made just as much of a warrior as he made a thief. A new breed by anyone's standards. But enough to fight a master of masters like Aridiil? We'll all end up dead.

'Augoth Thornbush is an old friend of Mother's. You of all people should know that, Aridiil.' Milkar's words swung the Altmer around.

'Of course.'

'We're not working for the Thieves of the Wood,' I added. 'We were saving Augoth from them.'

Aridiil considered me for a long moment, then his eyes fell on my sword. I shifted uneasily on my feet. Any stance I would take would not save me from Aridiil's destruction magic. Then I realized my sword still had Altmer blood on it.

'At the expense of Altmer lives?'

'Killing combatants isn't a crime, Aridiil. We only defended ourselves in a desperate situation. Anything further than that, you have no grounds.'

Aridiil squinted his golden eyes. 'No grounds? Need I remind the lot of you who enforces the law in this mud stain. I do!' He whipped around again, his black inquisitor robes fluttering with the sudden movement. 'I have been searching for Augoth for—'

'For fourteen years,' Milkar finished. 'A decade and a half since Ara of the Ghost Bow found her final resting place and you've tried to retain her power ever since.'

Mother's power. It's always about Mother's gods-damned power. I glanced back at Augoth who was still cowering behind Elren. Mother protected this man. Tutor Rollyn protected him. He could be the most prized individual anyone could attain. But why? Just how potent was his power? How could this fickle old fool cause this much turmoil? I thought it better if I should kill him myself.

To face the facts was to know that he was indeed desirable. Mother, Rollyn, and now us, we _need_ him.

The purging began after Mother death—after my birth. Milkar said he started training under Esmond to become a thief around the same time. During the decade-long tenure, Monsotar's influence grew. Every last bastard taped to the devastation of Valenwood is in part of Mother's _Ghost Flame_... and this old Bosmer.

The death of Elren's clan and other royal Bosmer tribes, the conflict that rages behind these trees, and the future bloodshed.

'Aridiil!' I seethed. 'Why do you seek the _Ghost Flame_ so badly? Are your magicka reserves not enough?'

Aridiil smile slanted a bit. 'Not nearly, no. Even when your mother was living, we begged her to utilize her power for the Aldmeri Dominion's agenda. After we Altmer came into power, we wanted a surefire power to protect all in the newly formed Dominion. Ara never complied.'

'She hid it from you,' I said, taking a step back. 'She knew what the Thalmor was capable of, so she hid it. She hid it from everyone. The Thornbushes hid among Elren's tribe, and so you slaughtered them all searching for it.'

Elren took a step forward but was careful not to leave Augoth unattended.

If Mother thought it necessary to protect this power from Aridiil and the Tam'Akar then it would be wise not to let Augoth, it's creator, from falling into the wrong hands. Not anymore.

'I am...so sorry,' Augoth cried.

Elren spat towards the ground at Aridiil's feet. The Altmer didn't flinch an inch. He couldn't have cared whether he killed a clan or a single Bosmer. He's a viper; he's a dragon ready to burn away everything in his way. Well, maybe that's true. And someday the Aldmeri Dominion do take of Tamriel and then all Nirn, but they will do it without the Tam'Akar.

I stepped forward to meet with Aridiil. His lanky tallness met my short lithe. My hands trembled as I held the sword tight. A sledgehammer pounded down on my heart, beating hard against my breasts. Murder and deceit were all the Tam'Akar lived by. Not by justice and truth. Those were lies. Aridiil wanted the _Ghost Flame_ , and somehow, I feel that he always had.

Even now, I could only think of his glaring down my Mother's back. Like the wall of a horde they face down together, he was there, plotting to steal Ara's power. It's power he's always wanted, and nothing will stop him from attaining it. Nothing, except the raven. Because only the bird made of night and of the crescent moons can take these dragons down.

The battle rages on in a clash muffled from the jungle trees encasing us in the low light of the jungle glow.

'We know what you did was illegal,' Milkar informs him. 'Even Father would have your head on a pike if he were to find out you did this.'

'I suppose we're _all_ his disappointments then,' Aridiil replied. 'Your father loves this wretched country, but I suppose he loves his name more. I'm sure we're in a mutual understanding when I say that we both will feel your father's wrath thanks to our,' Aridiil twirled his golden-skinned hand, gesturing to all of us, 'secrets.'

'But it doesn't matter. At this moment, you hold my prize. You obstruct my justice. That Bosmer can tell the Tam'Akar information regarding the Thieves of the Wood, and you keep him from me.'

I watched Aridiil's hand creep slowly to his sword. He didn't need it. His arsenal of master destruction spells could end us all right now. But I told him that we weren't going down without a fight. Milkar could slice his head off with the drop of a coin thanks to his sword's enchantment, but I doubt he was quicker than lightning. Aridiil would summon a ward and send a _Lightning Storm_ through Milkar's head simultaneously. Next, we would cook Elren and me alive with fire destruction magic. There weren't any chances we could take that would see us come out unscathed. Surprise attacks worked on Aridiil. However, we didn't have the element. It wasn't like before when I did draw the Altmer's precious blood. At that moment, he managed only a weak ward that took the combined effort of Tutor Rollyn and me to break through. Imagine if he were to spell a _Guardian Ward_. Something that's said to be stronger than a wall of ebony. There would be tons of spells in Aridiil's arsenal that could hold unspoken power. The situation was quickly drying up.

He was unaccompanied, probably watching the fight from afar when he spotted us fleeing. We drew the short stick.

'We're not handing him over, Aridiil.' Milkar began to circle him.

I decided without a doubt that I wanted to fight Aridiil and protect what Mother wanted to protect. To stop the Tam'Akar's agenda was to protect Valenwood.

My nerves sparked to life as Aridiil gave in. Perhaps, to him, a fight seemed easier. But there would be the problem with explaining our deaths to my father. We'll use that minuscule fact to our advantage and take him out for good.

Elren was the first to pounce. Like a cat finally making a move on its prey, he moved in with swift speed and zeal. Revenge makes a soul hunger for something devoid of nutrition. The knotted muscle under his skin contracting and relaxing with every closing inch. I was a few paces behind him. I held the sword with my hands stacked against the cross guard. Milkar used Pondus' enchantment to warp himself to Aridiil's side.

It was lightning fast, but with all my years of training with Tutor Rollyn, I taught myself to follow even the fastest of attacks. Being slow in battle is sometimes the difference between life and death. With my trained eyes, I notice the quick sparkle of magicka alight on Aridiil's finger as it deflected Pondus' tip. The sword shot back, nearly ripping Milkar's shoulder from its socket.

 _Ebonyflesh_. No, in order to deflect such a powerful sword that spell must have been of master skill. I searched the recesses of my memories. Although Tutor Rollyn taught me about the thousands of ways one can apply magicka to perform spells, I never had any sort of magical ability. So, he beat me how to recognize every common spell known to Tamriel. Aridiil was using _Dragonhide_. A spell that makes the skin ignore any physical attack.

Elren's knife and Aridiil's sword screamed their conflict as the two blades collided. Aridiil's style was absolute and refined, perhaps too precise for Elren's wild thrash.

There was an edictal motion to Elren's movements. His body took on the natural flow of Aridiil's attacks. He turned a dodge or parry into an attack and an attack into a dodge or parry. The tight woven muscles in his abdomen and the spring in his arms and legs gave him the ability to twist and turn with speed even when he hadn't contact with the ground.

Finally, I joined the fray. I tore my blade through the air, aiming for Aridiil's head. I tasted the heat before the fires flowered from his fingers as he warped a wall of flame between him and me. I hand-sprang away, using the tip of the sword instead of my hand to propel my body back. As I landed, Milkar blurred past me with his sword held to his cheek and the tip towards Aridiil's head.

Another magical blast sent both Elren and Milkar sprawled across the ground. Aridiil stood in the center and considered me. And then he yawned. With gritted teeth, I charged towards him once more and finally contacted his daedric sword. The sword thrummed with a red hue through the density of the metal, sending coiling vibrations down into the bones of my arms.

'It's a shame you don't share the same views as your parents. They elected to protect Valenwood, not become its downfall.'

I pressed on with my attacks, ignoring the acid pouring from his tongue. Mother would have never let him kill one Bosmer.

Aridiil matched my strikes blow for blow without even breaking a sweat, his skill far above mine. 'The law is the law. Those who are not in accordance must suffer the consequences. Your father—'

'To Oblivion with my father!' I swung my sword high, and he went low. 'What sort of law that's supposed to help its people prosper kills them without a due trial?'

'There's no use trying to reason with him, Leila,' Milkar said as he warped behind him. 'There's only rebellion.'

Aridiil lifted his free arm, forming a blackened orb to his palm. I recognized the magic. A radiant shift of the very material of reality spilled out from the orb into a ghastly, shimmering form. It stretched out and after two heartbeats transformed into an ethereal bounded sword, an exact replica of his own. He jabbed it towards my brother with swift reflexes. Even with Pondus' power to make Milkar faster than any living thing, it cut through his leather pauldron and bit into his skin.

Blood trickled down his left shoulder. Milkar brought a finger to the wound, and it came away bloody.

We stood surrounding our foe, analyzing him. Hating him.

'Are you okay Milkar?' I asked.

'I'll be fine. We're just getting warmed up.'

Just a few paces away the battle between the soldiers and the members of the Woods was reaching its climax. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, so thick I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. Aridiil's bent his knees and crossed his sword parallel to the ground in a defensive guard. I could see the battle sense in his eyes flowing. I've seen those eyes many times before. In my Tutor, in the foes of my adventures, and in myself.

Milkar was right, this was only the warmup, but we will not win this fight. And we'll be lucky if we survived it.

'I find it odd that a bunch of rebellious children acting as two-bit criminals call themselves _protecting_ Valenwood.' Aridiil smiled. 'Wouldn't becoming a soldier for your Ranger Guard be a better idea?'

Milkar scoffed. 'Do you see any Ranger Guard protecting the _Ghost Flame_ from you?'

'With that power, we could protect Valenwood for eras to come.'

'A power like that is as powerful as the Voice abilities of the Nords. No one with such power has ever defended anything, their only agenda was to conquer. Is that what you need it for, Aridiil? To conquer. Father has discussed with me the Dominion's issue with the Empire; the High Elves want the Ruby Throne.'

Aridiil shrugged. 'The Empire has allowed the worshipping of false gods. You know just as much as I do that can lead to anarchy among all peoples of Tamriel.' He laid his golden eyes on Elren. 'The Thalmor won't allow cults to thrive in the Aldmeri Dominion.'

'The Greenpact is no cult!' I spat. 'Y'ffre lives. Even the Altmer know that he is our ancestor god.'

'The religion the Bosmer barbarians worship is based on myth and conjecture. Protect your little forests, but do not—'

Elren launched a throwing knife from Aridiil's flank. When the High Elf reacted, that was my chance to act. He deflected the careening knife with relative ease, but I was already reaching his other flank. I roared a hungrily at my target, pulling with all my strength to strike him down.

I should have known; I should have been aware. Aridiil was leagues above us. So much so, even the three of us, even Milkar who I knew was closest in skill to Mother's prowess with the blade and bow, could not touch him. We were mere children—playthings. I was a fool to think otherwise. This is the true power of the Circle of Seven.

Aridiil stabbed his swords towards the ground. Fissures of light stretched out like spiderwebs, crisscrossing through the dirt into a circle shattered by magicka. This entire area was rigged with a lightning rune before any of us decided to run here, but Aridiil knew. He was not one, or five, or ten feet ahead of us. No. He was an entire league ahead of us.

These Thalmor, these Tam'Akar inquisitors, just what were they? How could we win against such power?

The world around us began to flare. We were going to die, shocked to death by lightning magic.

'Esmond now!' Milkar's voice curled with the strain.

The world stopped breathing. Around me, all things froze as if Auriel stepped on the ropes that drag Nirn through time. The beautiful luster of plants became devoid of any color. Aridiil's spell sparked out like tendrils of lightning never reached us. Aridiil himself was unmoving, locked in his escape—that damnable grin still cracking his lips.

Esmond dropped from the trees above amiss our battleground.

'Boy, you've surely got yourself in deep sheep's piss now,' Esmond said.

'What in Oblivion happened?' I asked him.

' _Time Stasis_ ,' he said. 'A spell I've been trying to master for over a decade. 'I can only hold it for a few hundred heartbeats though, so we better get going.'

'Sometimes,' I began, 'your Altmer blood comes in handy.'

'Yeah...' His yellow-green eyes fell on Aridiil. He shook his head and turned away.

'Esmond is right, we should leave now.'

Elren slipped a knife into his hand and began to cut across Aridiil's neck.

'Wait, Elren, stop!' Milkar barked. 'You can't.'

'You're not making any sense,' Elren growled.

'You can't kill him.'

I raised a brow. 'Why not?'

'Right now, Aridiil and his team are the only ones who know who we are,' Milkar explained. 'If we kill him, then not only the other four but the entire Thalmor army will hunt us down. Maybe even all of the Aldmeri Dominion.'

Esmond walked back up to Aridiil's time-frozen body. 'As much as I don't like it, Milkar is right.'

Elren's hand trembled with the need to enact his revenge on the elf that murdered his clan. I placed a hand on his shoulder. 'You'll get your chance, Elren. Don't muddy your hands, you're above this.'

'He took everything from me.'

I nodded. 'I understand but think about the bigger image.'

Finally, he lowered his knife.

'Getting tired here,' Esmond warned.

The world around us slowly began to right itself. The color began to return to normal, my eyes discerned the faint light emitted by the flora. The sands of time started to tumble again, every dozen heartbeats Aridiil moved. The spell was beginning to break.

Milkar made his way over to Elren and looked him in the eyes. 'This world is in the shadows, we will have to do things that seem morally wrong. I know that. But we aren't the darkness that surrounds us, we're better. We are the light of the crescent moons that slice through it. You will be able to see Aridiil and all the Tam'Akar fall, but you don't want it to be like this.'

It was there I wanted to correct my brother. Tell him that this world he believes to be growing will need the blood to shed. He _will_ need an avenger whether he liked it or not.

As we made our escape into the deep thickness of the forest, the moon's light beamed through the living ceiling. I looked up at the radiating pillars of silver revealing Secunda's brilliance. The small white moon wasn't Nirn's moon but his sister's moon. Its waxing form looked as if a god was waking upon Valenwood—waking upon me. A black spec streaked across the light. It was a bird flying through the night over the battle.

If I wasn't sure of anything, then I was completely sure then that I would do whatever it took for Milkar to be successful, I will be his raven in the night.


	10. The Enchanter's Power

**Tam'Akar -Aldmerish for "Dawn Dragons." An elite force of Inquisitors that are ranked higher than Justiciars or Thalmor mages. Their job is to establish their religion across the Dominion and push out any naysayers of the Altmer pantheon. The Tam'Akar is a small force of the strongest Altmerish mages with the charge of an army of Thalmor fists. The Thalmor fists are the Dominion soldiers made up of pure Altmer. In Valenwood, the only operating Tam'Akar members are Aridiil and his team.**

 _ **Members:**_

 **Aridiil the Nefarious \- Aridiil was once looked at as a hero to the Bosmer people. Before the Thalmor's rise to power, he was a simple missionary sent to Valenwood to garner support for the fledgling political party. Having his plans put on a standstill because of the Oblivion Crisis, he teamed up with Leila's mother to defeat an army of Daedra. Now he's the captain of three other dangerously strong Altmer on a mission to find Ara of the Ghost Bow's power that she hid in Valenwood.**

 **Florentine \- An Altmer beauty, even among the Altmer. Her blood carries the innate ability to control Earth destruction magic, an element that can't be learned but inherited through her bloodline. She's ruthless and indifferent and would follow Aridiil to the planes of Oblivion.**

 **Andalf the Conjuror \- A master of the Conjuration school. Was once apart of a group of Knights known as the 'Sons of Auriel' under the guard of the King of Alinor. After the Thalmor came into power, they recruited Andalf to become an Inquisitor.**

 **Liemo \- A boy of only eight. He possesses an unlimited supply of magicka and has already mastered stronger elemental destruction magics such as wind. He is said to be almost as talented and strong as his Captain, Aridiil.**

* * *

 _The work Augoth did was something more than mere enchantment. It was something more that may never surface on Nirn ever again._

* * *

Chapter 10: The Enchanter's Power

Five dummies stuffed with sun-dried elk sinew lined the excavated dojo wall. We painted them with the yellow and red ink of Aldmeri _Round-Teeth Squid_ from the Topal Coast of Elsweyr. Their red rings served as targets for our arrows, but most of the time they're destroyed by the practice of sword and knife. We fashioned them with the brass crowns of Dominion soldiers.

For days, my mind replayed the battles with the Tam'Akar endlessly repeating. And every time, I kept finding small, minuscule openings that I'd miss amid the fight. Even the plethora of opportunities that Aridiil could have taken to end my life as well. It was stupid, foolish, and it was against my training under Tutor Rollyn. Never leave an opening on yourself and always explore any openings of your enemy. If I was to witness myself fight the Altmer, I would have hung my head in shame. And yet they toyed with me, made me believe I had even the slightest chance to defeat them.

Florentine's endless, indifferent beauty shaped its way on to the first dummy. I ran my hand down fuller of a bone-carved training sword no bigger than a child's shin. It wasn't Osseinium, but a bone made from a meager animal with no significant quality. I imagined the dummy to live and lanced at it as if I was in a real fight. My body flowed through the techniques that I've learned over the years, ripping through the wolf skin casing. I felt myself closing all the openings that I would have had in the real fight. I closed them off and moved with such elegance and grace and mixed it with fury and disorder. As I was taught.

I rained slashes and lunges in a storm of attacks, covering the elvenoid replica with imaginary wounds. Dried pelt shavings exploded out of the sowing in a maelstrom of stuffing. I poured my anger and frustration in every attack. Feigning modesty no more; I hated failure. It helped foster the anger growing in the pits of my being, erupting with the pain of worthlessness.

Not being her. Not being her equal no matter how hard I trained. It hurt. It hurt so much.

I feigned a defense against powerful boulders the terramancer would throw my way in my mind's eye. I pretended that the earth shook and ripped open to throw me off my guard. People who battled with magic were always so unpredictable. Magicka is a dangerous deal. Which is why a warrior that wields anything magical is considered the strongest of them all.

Florentine's face slipped from my mind, replaced with Mother's.

I've only ever seen my mother's face on oil paintings and portraits around my father's estate. I did look like her as everyone would say. We shared the oval face of a maiden in the spring years of her life. Mother's face could have held its youth up until old age. Her honey-lined, almond hair flowed in fractious waves down to just her shoulders as mine fell at the center of my back. Her brow was soft, labeled by razor eyebrows above her signature emerald-gemmed eyes. The ones her children share. But mother's eyes betrayed her virtuous beauty. Behind those eyes was a thousand ways to kill, they were as sharp as any warrior's. At home, my brothers say she was pure of heart, a great woman to love and give love. She was a mother. But with her political pull, battle sense, and discipline, she was as much as a raging ox compared to father. I would have hated that side of her.

I didn't hate Mother. Void's guidance, I never even met the woman. But I hated what she was, and what people expected me to be. I couldn't be like her; I couldn't fill her boots. I didn't have the _Ghost Flame_ or childhood in the Ranger Guard. I don't have a horde of Daedra to stop, family to avenge, or team of the most powerful warriors in Valenwood. I don't have any of that. How could I possibly have been like her? It just wouldn't have made sense. Not for me, anyway.

I pushed the training sword slowly against the figure and toppled it over.

'She mopes.'

'When our luck runs out, and the Tam'Akar finally pulls our card, you won't be saying that, Milkar.' I said, turning to my brother.

He'd braided his hair into one ponytail stretching towards that back of his head. All his hair was pulled away from his face, divulging the dynamic face of an elf, too advanced for himself. He'd a change of armor again. This time decorated ribbons of leather layered his chest plate like ribs on a slender animal. It was representative of the Ranger Guard's armor efficacity. A silver-made crescent was emblazoned above his chest, between the collarbone. Those emerald eyes beaming straight at me with amused intensity. The emblem of a waning Secunda was the consummation of our new name.

I pulled my eyes from the silver crescent on his armor and brought it to his eyes. 'It's a good name, brother.'

He peeled himself from the wall and crossed his arms. 'I think so too.'

Our little team grew with the arrival of Augoth Thornbush. Since rescuing him from Monsotar's dog's, the master enchanter has helped us with loads of information on our chosen enemy. But Monsotar was a cunning Bosmer. He kept his secrets well hidden. The best we got from Augoth was the layout of the Thieves of the Wood's network and how it worked. It was good enough.

It was Milkar's idea to give the gang a name. Something that matched our role in Valenwood's underground liberations. We were the light that cuts into the darkness of the night sky. Like the sleepy moon, we are the sickle of silver. A sliver of light in a world doused in black.

'Why don't you don the new armor?' Milkar asked. 'Is it not to your liking.'

'I prefer the black leathers,' I said, holding my vambraces to the dull lamplight. 'It reminds me of the raven.'

Milkar walked over to the barrow of training swords. I'd set this chamber up to be a place where the team could practice. We decided that if this road leads us into conflict with the most dangerous soldiers and fighters of Tamriel, then we need to keep our skills sharpened. 'Did you feel the need to become a better fighter after Aridiil?' Milkar pulled a sword from the training set.

'How fast would Father have disposed of Aridiil?' I inquired. 'We were skeevers against a golem.'

'I wouldn't say that.' He trained an eye down the flat of the blade, making sure its level was perfect. 'You can beat Aridiil, if you actually tried, that is.'

'How could you say I didn't actually try?'

'Because I know you, and I know you can beat him.'

'Aridiil was a warrior of the Circle of Seven. He stood by Mother's side against the Daedra. He played with us, made us think we had a sliver of a chance.'

Milkar shook his head. 'You aren't fighting the way Tutor Rollyn taught you. At first, I thought you were just apprehensive, skittish even, but no. You revert back to the student when you fight strong opponents. Someone who isn't sure of herself.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'What do you mean?'

Milkar took a stance that I recognized to be Tutor Rollyn's signature sword stance. I flinched a bit, remembering all the time Rollyn had beat the techniques into me day after day, week after week. My brother smiled up at me. 'I'll show you.'

'How do you—'

'You're not the only who trained under Rollyn the Special,' he said.

I took my favorable stance. My power leg pulled back with my toes facing outward, and the toes of my forward leg pointed forward. I kept my sword arm straight and pulled so that the blade is at an acute angle to the ground. My free arm is up with the palm facing towards my opponent.

I was the first to attack. To start, I drove my forward leg down and brought my right leg up and into an uppercut strike with the sword. That was an easy parry for Milkar. I guess it was a bit too predictable, especially for someone as skilled as Milkar. After the parry, I straightened to block his counter, it was nothing easy. He feigned a lung, but by the small twitches in his arms, I guessed he was moving differently. I moved accordingly and slapped the palm of my free hand against the flat of the blade, bracing for a stab.

The force of the blow drove me back, dragging my feet through the dust. It was my turn to attack again. I brought the sword up and back down onto his blade again and again but to no avail. Finally, I went in for a lung. Milkar angled his sturdy body toward my sword, allowing the entire sword to slip past his guard. As I thought I had him, he snaked his arm around mine and pulled me closer towards him, seizing my body.

'This isn't some fencing game, Leila.' He tightened his grip on me. 'You're just throwing techniques that you've learned over the years. You aren't allowing your natural instinct to guide you.' He tossed me aside. 'With all your skill and potential, you still will never win against people like the Tam'Akar or Monsotar.'

I stumbled away, tripping over my own feet clumsily, and crashed into a practice dummy. A dust plume sprouted around me as I glared into my brother's. 'I said I wasn't good enough, thank you for showing that I was right.' I stood and patted my leathers.

Milkar shrugged. 'You still haven't shown me the real you. The Leila that can cut down men easily.'

'Soldiers and thieves aren't the same compared to the sheer power Aridiil wields.'

'Aridiil bleeds just like any other mortal,' he said, pouncing on me.

Tutor Rollyn taught me that fighting was merely a dance, and the song was that of the sword. The sword song. If you pluck a note on a harp is that music? If you combine the note of a piece, does it become a song? Sword fighting is much the same. A single technique is not the song, it's how we piece together the composition that matters.

I felt, perhaps, that my mind wondered too many times to the days with my tutor, when life was simple but hard. For me, it was either become strong, die, or disappoint my father. None of that mattered—all I have are the memories. Because memories are all, we are. Moments and feelings, captured in the hardened resin of our forests. Chip away a girl's memories, and you destroy her as surely as hammering nail after nail through her skull.

In some way, I understood Milkar's words. My fear gets the best of me, and so I'm far more meticulous in my fights against powerful foes. I noticed it against Florentine in the Hall of Heroes and again against Aridiil. My body knows what it must do, and yet, I force it to obey me. I can hold my own against the best fighters in Valenwood, but that kind of fighting will only take me so far.

My mind coiled over the thoughts as Milkar pinned me time after time.

'You're distracted,' Milkar barked. 'Focus and feel the warrior in yourself. You know how to fight on the level of the legends, just allow yourself to do it. Let your mind and body become like water, let it flow.'

I sucked air into my lungs. Sometimes the difference between a mouth that cries fright and one that sits silently in its bravery is a deep breath. A moment to recollect yourself and assess your bearings. I tried to unfurl the vines of fear the gripped my mind. I hated it. Fear that is. Fear keeps us weak; the fear of what we don't know, or of what we _do_ know.

I felt the loosening of my arms and of my legs. I unclipped the worry in my heart, and I filled my mind with the sword song. That clicking reflex that all men and women develop after years of smashing their metal against someone else's metal came to me as if it never left. It was good.

The Milkar that stood before me changed. No longer was there Milkar Lockharte, a son of Ara High-Arrow, the deadliest fighter of the Saltow Pits. He wasn't Mother's legacy anymore. He was a Bosmer with a sword.

With my confidence, I took his flank, but he twirled out of the range of my sword. I made sure to step back away from his counter, and easily enough, his sword met only air. He went in again, instead of parrying, subjecting myself to a counter that would lose me the sparring match. I simply step away. Again, and again, his sword came, and my body made the simplest of moves to avoid him.

This is what I remembered. This is what Rollyn taught me.

On his final swing, I finally brought my sword up, catching the timing perfectly. If we were using real swords, his hand would have dropped away from his wrist, losing his sword arm for good. Instead, his training sword flew end over end and clattered to the ground. I pinned him with the end of my own training sword.

'Checkmate.'

'Ah,' he said. 'Very good.'

The adrenaline coursing through me shook my hands and rattled my breathing. Through my panting, I looked at my brother. The clear satisfaction in his face hadn't helped to soothe the inflation of my ambition. This was confidence of the best. Of Mother. Because if Milkar had ever needed the ground to soak blood, it is I who will be his sword.

'You hold this world in your hands, Milkar, and however you shake it, and however the pieces fall into place, you better change it.'

* * *

We left the training room and out into the main chamber. This place has changed much since starting my idiosyncratic rebellion against destiny. We've expanded outside of the mound of hard amber that we called our hideout. That was thanks to Esmond and his superior magical abilities. They say home singing is an art only passed down from shaman to shaman among the Greenpact Bosmer. Some are known to home sing for the Dominion and even the Camoran crown. But it seems Esmond's thievery stretches far beyond coin or the casual priceless trinket.

Shimmer Root was massive despite being a mere sapling. It was hundreds of years older than I was, but it won't reach its peak growth for another thousand years. That made it the perfect hideout for mud-squatting criminals like us. Milkar set us up for success, even though none of us knew how to be a criminal or a thief for that matter. One thing is right: we are merely a bunch of rebellious delinquents thinking we're something. The only person here that has any reputation as a thief and notorious criminal was Esmond. That fool was once one of Monsotar's top Nightblades in the Thieves of the Wood. Up until he met my brother.

The tree's center, an entire world of its own, was sung into a field surrounded by a forest of oak and lustrous mushrooms significantly larger than even the oaks. Bioluminescence poured from them, making sure we don't slam into each other in the dark. It's not odd for explorers to find adventure inside a Graht-Oak. Most have hallowed chambers larger than an old cave system. Shamans sing entire villages into existence in these great and old trees. Ours make the best home to a bunch of misfits.

But it's about vision. A vision that my brother can see and one that I will help him realize. Some men are too dull to see what could and what will. Not Milkar. He doesn't populate his mind with maybes and torture himself with should haves.

Now that vision is finally coming to fruition. We raised the walls of swirling, braided, and knotted vine. The sparkling gem flowers growing in the walls twinkled like shimmering moonlight in a low falling waterfall. What was a mound of dirt, amber, and flora now was a dwelling of magnificent beauty any thief would want to pluck from its place.

'Finally, you've come up!' Aranwen exclaimed, approaching us whilst licking his lips.

The sweet, salty aroma of snail gumbo growled my stomach to life. I groaned with hunger and followed Aranwen out to fire pit smoldering a large pot of the stuff. Elren sat on a coupling of protruding roots, his feet dangling and eyes on me. I took up a seat next to him.

'Smells good,' I said to him.

Elren's gentle smile brought a breath of air to my soul. There are people who say a lot without saying much. Elren was one of those people.

In the bleak moments of our lives. The times where you can sit back and take in the world as it is. To enjoy it as it is. Those are the moments you should soak in. Lay them across the wrinkles of your brain and iron them to memory. We have our own stories, the lot of us, and each story creates the anthology that was our family.

'It's not that simple, you see,' Augoth Thornbush began explaining to Esmond. 'Our blood contains the magic that is imbued in an arcane enchanter. More potent too!'

'But where do you get the soul? How can you imbue enchantments without souls?' Esmond's frustration brought me to a giggle.

'Only the most power enchanters can power the school without souls.'

'The arrogance!'

Augoth clicked his teeth and shook his head. 'You misunderstand. Souls hold the purest form of magicka, which is why they are used for imbuing magicka to weapons. Like water, souls need to fill a container. By filling in that container with a soul, the soul powers it with their magicka.'

Esmond stroked his chin.

I giggled again. There are no half measures with mages. No in-betweens. Esmond is probably the most skilled master of the Illusion school of magic, but his lack of understanding of Enchantment was bafflingly hilarious.

'So, what do _you_ fill it with, master enchanter?' I asked. 'If not souls, what do you use?'

Augoth hung his head in shame. 'My curse allows me access to pure magicka.'

'Your curse?'

Augoth slowing nodded. He peeled his leather glove from his hand and raised it to the show. The flesh over his entire hand was a grueling mix of blistered skin, exploding puss dripping from open wounds. The skin melted away from the muscle in some parts whilst other spots, scabs cracked and sizzled.

'By the gods man! Put that thing away!' Aranwen yelped. 'We're eating here.'

Elren gagged beside me, Milkar stood with amused disgust written on his face, but Esmond still stood with stroking his chin in a birdbrained confusion. I was the first to explode in maniac cackling before Milkar and Elren joined in. Gods, I loved this team. Aranwen nearly toppled that entire snail gumbo with his laughter.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, but it came out rattled. Maybe just for a briefing moment, I thought of moments like this wasn't going to last forever. That there was a huge world out there for us to bleed for. I observed the moment with a still mind. _Family_ , I thought. This was family. This was what I was missing.

I felt the warmness of Elren hand on my arm. I looked into those smiling brown eyes and saw something truly astonishing. I saw the world.

'What?' I asked, softly.

'Thank you.' He rubbed his palm over my skin.

'For?'

'Not running away that night.'

My heart drummed loudly against my chest. A new feeling grew in the pits of my belly. A bubbly sensation. 'You—' I forced the words from my mouth. 'I like you, Elren. You should open up more.'

'What kind of power did you deliver to Monsotar to leave your hands so scarred?' The question sent spiderweb cracks through the moment.

Milkar didn't hold back the terror on his face.

'You can create an enchanted sword with the touch of your finger, leaving little damage. But Mother's _Ghost Flame_ left you scarred and unusable for an entire century.'

Milkar stomped slowly, menacingly towards Augoth. He grabbed Augoth by the wrist and raised his burned hands to his face. He growled low, angry, something you rarely see in Milkar. 'What did you create for him? What does he have now?'

'I—I! Please! I didn't have a choice.' Augoth wept.

'Brother, why don't you bugger off,' Aranwen barked.

Milkar ignored Aranwen's order. 'Tell us what we're dealing with.'

'Okay. Okay! I'll tell you everything.' Milkar released the poisoned hand.

'Milkar...' I whispered.

Elren sighed.

'Monsotar is the worst kind of person. He'd kill all of us given the chance!' Augoth began rubbing his wrist. 'I had no choice!'

'Explain.'

Augoth peeled the other glove from his hand, revealing it to be just as raw as his other. The flesh burned and liquefied from the raw magicka. 'It's called Goldfire. Well, at least that's what he calls it.'

'Goldfire?' I asked, my brain searching all databases in my head on legendary weapons. 'I know there's a Goldbrand.'

Augoth slowly nodded. The face of a man full of sorrow and defeat. Goldbrand, the name sends chills down the spine of anyone verse in daedric artifacts. A sword of pure gold and of pure evil. Its fire can burn as hot as the sun. The books say that the dragons of the North forged it and that it can burn the world away just as the dragons are fated to do.

'Goldfire was created in the likeness of Goldbrand. But to say it is stronger or weaker, I cannot.' He held up his hands. 'This is only the second worst reaction of an enchantment I've experienced in my life... There was one other that nearly cost me my life.'

'The _Ghost Flame_.' Milkar took a closer look at Augoth's hands. 'If this Goldfire did _this_ to your hands, then certain anything like Mother's power would destroy them.'

'No healing spell has ever worked,' Augoth said.

Esmond's face shook his head in stark protest. 'That's because you're not thinking it through. You can write into magicka what you need from it. Which is why the schools of magic exist. With raw magicka, your affinity controls its purpose.' His miraculous perspicacity struck us odd.

'Heal it with raw magicka,' Milkar said.

Augoth huffed the air of his frustration. 'I've thought of that. Raw magicka is too dangerous. Without the innate ability, anyone who has tried to control it has killed themselves.'

Esmond stuck his hand towards the old Enchanter. 'Your hands please.'

'What?'

Esmond, by all the gods in Aetherius, had to be one the oddest, strongest, most talented beings in the newly named Silver Crescents. I, for all intensive purposes, needed to see what was about to transpire. I climbed my down and made watched Esmond alight his hands with magicka. The clever craft of magic is the manipulation of reality in some way using a driving energy present within all creation. We call this energy magicka. It's said that the only way to handle magicka and use it to alter reality is through spells. But magicka doesn't stop at a simple incantation of ancient words and knowledge. They govern the special innate abilities of living beings as well, those things outside of the common schools of magic. Using raw magicka outside of spells or incantations is the equivalent of using your stamina outside of physical stimulation. A truly hard concept to think on. But sometimes we're not taught to wrap our heads around such transcendent concepts.

The rest of us were deathly quiet, even Aranwen who'd usually have a lot to say, said nothing. We watched the blinding light emitted from Esmond's hands. The swirling blue force slithered as if it bore the mass of smoke, flickered as if it were a fire, and rippled like water. Esmond's flesh bubbled and erupted like a pig's skin thrown in an open flame. The smell made my head swim.

'H—how?' Augoth stuttered.

Esmond let the magicka evaporate from his hands, leaving the skin of it boiling and smoking.

The look of shock told tales of my family's astonishment.

'The Thornbush ancestor wanted to discover a way to power enchantments without sending souls to the Soul Cairn. Which is why your magical affinity is used for enchantment. But at the cost of your body.' Esmond explained in full to Augoth. Something the master enchanter probably already knew.

'My magical affinity,' Esmond raised his hand higher for all the Silver Crescents to see, 'is healing.'

Slowly but surely, Esmond's hand had scabbed in places where it oozed blood and liquefied flesh. In moments, all wounds on his hands were completely gone. Augoth still held his doubts but eventually gave in to what he'd just witnessed. Esmond summoned raw magicka to his hands once more, this time holding Augoth's within his.

Their flesh sizzled away until the white of their bones peaked through the torrid flesh. Esmond ceased his magical frying. Plumes of evaporated flesh lifted into the air, leaving a pungent smell of rotted roasted pork harrying the nose.

But then miraculously, their hands began to heal. Veins and blood vessels squirmed as skin built its many layers to close that of which should not be exposed. New and fresh, like a baby. Augoth infected flesh was ready to create as the gods intended them to, or whatever curse intended.

There is an intense, overwhelming profundity when you and the lot of your friends have the same idea in mind. When you realize that your power had just become limitless. Perhaps, this euphoria is what Monsotar or Aridiil must feel when they wake every morning. However, what Aridiil and Monsotar failed to realize is that you should always pay close attention to who's right at your feet because they can rise and take you out.

'So,' Aranwen began, 'I don't know about any of y'all, but I lost my appetite.'

* * *

'Listen up!' Milkar took center stage. We trained our eyes on our leader. 'Aranwen, Elren, Leila, and Esmond. I believe a thank you is in order for joining me on my assault against those who wish to rot Valenwood from the inside out. I have no doubt that we can grow, and we can win this fight.'

'We're with you, brother,' Aranwen shouted.

'Augoth,' Milkar looked down at the master enchanter. 'Your power can benefit us all. I feel it can deep down. For years, Monsotar has trapped you to work for him. He abused your power to create perversions of your talent. I wanted to stop him, so I did.'

Augoth rubbed his clean hands together, reveling in how smooth his skin was. The old Bosmer smiled, creasing a thousand wrinkles on his face. 'I—I couldn't thank you enough.'

'You can thank me,' Milkar began, 'by joining us. Help us like you did Mother.'

'I—'

'It's your choice, Augoth. My protection will never cease, so you don't have to feel pressured.'

Augoth nodded warily. 'I will help you as long as I get to use my cur—my abilities are just that, my own.' Augoth flinched away from Milkar slightly.

'I will not ask you to use your abilities. You have been in Monsotar's network, so it is your mind that I need the most. What you've seen; what you can tell us.'

Milkar stretched a hand towards Augoth. A sign of comradery. The first sign that told us that we could finally win this. Augoth took my brother's hand then.

Milkar smiled. 'Welcome to the Silver Crescents.'


	11. Weapon's Merchant

***This is my own lore.**

 **Valenwood's elite Ranger Guard was a military force created in consequence of losing both the Five-Year War and the Blue Divide. Two Bosmer, veterans of both wars, and close friends beseeched the Silvenar's blessing to create a new order to never show weakness to their enemies ever again. Faengal Lockharte, and his longtime friend, Leisanna Straight-Shaft founded and trained the first of the Ranger Guard.**

 **The ranks of the Ranger Guard are as follows:**

 **Feathers (Lowest rank)**

 **Arrow Tips**

 **Hands**

 **Bows**

 **Watchmaster (Highest rank-Leader)**

 **Elder Guard (Prestigious rank)**

 **The Elder Guard isn't an official rank of the Ranger Guard but merely a group of the strongest that are currently living. There can only be twelve at a time, and the rank is invite only. The exclusive group is comprised those recognized for their feats and skills. Here are the living Ranger Guard in**

 **Through The Twilight:**

 **Crestel High-Arrow**

 **Tuuton The Bow**

 **Prince Basdal Camoran**

 **Treethane Fert**

 **Sandael Witchmaker**

 **Thorn**

 **Leeya**

 **Heila Goldenseed**

 **Neilo Goldenseed**

 **Mano The Elder (High-Arrow clan)**

 **Formerly Arian the Brave**

 **Seedale Fort-Grazer (whereabouts unknown)**

* * *

Some would say this Empire only knows despair, but I have seen otherwise. Which is why I will never give up on the dream that Milkar laid out for me.

* * *

Chapter 11: Weapon's Merchant

Arenthia. This place holds some significance for me. Within these very walls, on these very streets, my mother fought the Daedric horde. In this very city, three Oblivion gates tore open to our world and poured the hateful creatures that threatened the lives of all in Valenwood. Only to be stopped by the Circle of Seven.

The wall that enclosed the city was twenty Bosmer high, and ten Wood Orcs wide. Stretching for more than a league in both directions from the main gates. It was grand alright. And ugly. It didn't have much of our province's influence. A bland humanistic city sitting on the border of Cyrodiil and Elsweyr, it was thick with stone buildings and settled in a thin veil of our forest. If you could call it a forest.

The Cyrodiilic Woods stretched for more than twenty leagues with only a few Graht-Oaks looming in the distance like scattered gods. You can see them in the clear skies when the sun blared down on the citizens. Or not at all when the rains come.

We walked through the streets after bypassing the city guards at the main gates. A well-worn cloak has its place, but it's often suggested that you don't attract attention while trying to avoid attention. This was the number one rule of a thief. Blend in always. This city was known as a crossroad of unfamiliar cultures, a hub for trade and appropriation. Many strange wanderers or adventurers walk these streets, my chosen black leathers didn't earn a second glance.

'Were you trying to blend in with the Aristocrats or creating a target for pickpockets?' I asked Augoth.

'Seems like I've always been a target for thieves,' he said.

'Better this way,' Elren added, his voice hidden under the fold of his hood. 'More authentic.'

Augoth wore the silver robes of Branch-Lord. Rulers of branch districts among the Graht-Oak cities and villages in Valenwood. Mostly, they were just business mongrels or prominent merchants that gained vast amounts of coin from monopolizing city markets. I didn't want the attention. But in order to lure out the black market, we needed to appear rich.

Augoth looked like easy blood, easy blood meant easy coin, and easy coin was bait for even the most illegal of trading.

We traveled down the dusty, dry streets

'Your brother, why does he work for Monsotar willingly?'

Augoth sighed. 'He feels that it is his opportunity to show the world he is as skilled as me. But I don't feel as if I'm some sort of skilled anything. I could. I'd give him this power in a heartbeat.'

'Your brother doesn't have the same power as you?'

Augoth shook his head. 'He's a master enchanter like I, but he does not carry the blood ability. His enchantments are powerful, but not like mine. The horrors I've created with these hands are army killers.'

'People still buy Thornbush enchantments, though any enchanter can create his.' Elren worked the issue silently.

'Don't underestimate Torgoth. His enchantments may not have the touch of raw magicka, but his enchantments have caused issues throughout history.'

Issues throughout history sound about right. There have been volumes written on the matter of Daedra cults honoring the sixteen princes of the planes of Oblivion. Cults who infuse the essence of their Daedra masters into different weapons and artifacts across Tamriel. How many of those ancient trinkets and blades have Thornbush ancestor fingerprints on them? How many of the heroic beings that have been written into history wielding powerful companions to assist them in their deeds. Mother's power, the _Ghost Flame_ , was the product of Augoth's abilities. It was known to have been a world leveler.

There was one other world leveler I learned about. A man from the North that created an empire. Much of what was written about him was destroyed here in Valenwood, but his name is still whispered by those who dare to. The Septim progenitor, Tiber Septim. But even the _Ghost Flame_ couldn't have put Mother on the same level as someone like him. When I speak her name, I don't feel the chilling wave down the spine as I do when speaking of a man with the soul of a dragon. No way in Oblivion.

Arenthia's main market was at the heart of the city. All the main roads in Arenthia lead to the markets. The city was a sublime example of assimilated culture. And that was largely due to a plethora of merchants and their exotic trinkets. A wall of human, Mer, and Beastfolk met us at the road ends. A swath of stalls and end-opened stores lined a circular rolling road surrounded by an army of would-be consumers bartering to an inch of their life as if they had to have that last fox skin for the least amount of coppers they could pull from their ragged coin purses. It was the least boring thing about the city. That unless you find the sand-washed buildings interesting.

'Make way! Make way!' I pushed a clearing through squirming bodies.

Elren was beside me, quietly pressing pressure points on elbows, knees, ribs, and other attacks on the mind's command points. As I used a little force, he used the natural physical weaknesses of the body.

'Who're we looking for again?' I asked Augoth.

'A girl about your age selling rusted blades,' he said.

I scoffed. 'Rusted blades?'

'It's just a front.'

We made it to the center of the market street, surrounded by a swath of yelling and murmuring buyers and the high calls of merchants advertising their goods.

'Okay, we're here, old man. Lead us to the girl.'

Augoth shot me a worried glance, clicked his teeth, and began surveying glut of stalls and stores choking the innards of the city. You could buy almost anything here. There were stalls stocked with exotic meats from lands too far to concern me with, some were even still alive. Others had weapons with unnecessary uses. A stocky old human with greys stabbing out wildly from the fringes of his block of a head bartered with a Wood Orc over a heavy metal ball with sharp barbs on its surfaces.

The racket of the dense populous deafened my hearing to the point of adding to the clamor because I couldn't hear my own voice. 'I don't see anyone selling rusted weapons.'

'We keep looking!' Augoth rasped as loud as his aged throat could.

Elren left two quick taps on my shoulder and met me with a pale stare. Not to bother with his low speaking in a place so loud, he nodded towards the beginning of a boulevard only a few meters from where we stood. I looked towards the street to see several Dominion guards securing the ends of the crowd. Many Justiciars overlooked the sea of bodies, but there was one in particular that took my study.

Even among the Altmer, he was ludicrously tall. The height of three of me standing foot to shoulders. And he didn't lack in heft either. You rarely ever see a physically substantiated Thalmor agent because their abilities are understood through their magicka, not their brawn. It was obvious that this one wasn't any ordinary Thalmor mage or Justiciar, he wore the black jacket and moonstone elven metal buckles of the Tam'Akar. Instead of the golden eagle of the Thalmor, his insignia bore the head of a dragon crowned by the sun as Aridiil and Florentine had.

'What in the dark Void is the Tam'Akar doing here?' I asked to Elren's ear.

He turned to me. 'We can't stay here.' I couldn't hear him, but his lips mouthed it clearly.

We pulled Augoth back through the crowd as hastily as we brought him to it. This was a job to help cripple the Thieves of the Wood. Now it threatened to become a battle in the middle of an overcrowded bartering fair.

We emptied into an alleyway swarming with dusty black lurkers, poor and dry, a product of the Dominion's care for the lower caste of Valenwood. I knew deeper in the city's slums there were worse, these poor souls weren't the limit.

'What? What is it?' Augoth cried. He clawed at my bunched hand.

'Tam'Akar.' Elren pointed.

Augoth gasped. 'Where?'

Augoth's eyes nearly dropped from their sockets as they peered upon the towering Altmer. 'No. No. No! This isn't good at all.'

'Get a hold of yourself, Augoth.' I shook his robes. 'Do you know why they're here?'

'For my brother,' he said. 'But why! Why him?'

'Would you rather Aridiil or Florentine?'

'Do you understand who _that_ is?'

I shook my head. Elren crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. 'That's a Son of Auriel. The king of Alinor's personal guard. After his work under his king was finished, he joined the Tam'Akar. His name, Andalf the Conjuror. Someone like Aridiil would kill you without suffering. Andalf makes you suffer.'

I sighed and slid down to sit on my haunches. 'What do we do now then?'

'Change Augoth's disguise. Look for this merchant from the shadows of the city,' Elren suggested.

'Fine.'

* * *

'How many Tam'Akar inquisitors are there anyway?'

'An army's worth, I presume,' Augoth said. 'Only four here in Valenwood.'

I chuckled softly. 'Well, I've seen three. Where's the fourth?'

'You don't want to know who the fourth is.' Elren's feet pattered on in silence.

Nightfall came, and with it, quietness. At night, the city's gaggle of bodies dwindled down to a few stragglers out to make that last deal. It's a different place at this time of the night. Although the desert threatens to consume it from the east, the forest is still prevalent here. I didn't notice it at first, but the streets were swath with coiling vines and fresh moss. Every crack and crevice leaked with the flora. The dim, chatoyant sparkling of spores took away the dull simplicity of the human influence in the architecture and gave it the feel I knew so well.

'How are we going to survive this?' I asked the question to relieve the anxiety festering in my gut.

Elren watched me as I twirled my finger around the rough edges of a bone cup. We've been guzzling down eagle's beak broth for half the day, and we were no closer to Torgoth than when we first entered through the gate. And it was all thanks to the Tam'Akar's presence here in Arenthia.

The tavern we took refuge in was unlike any other in the rest of Valenwood. This was the cultural fusion displayed once more. There were several

'You have doubts?'

'Plenty,' I said. 'You don't?'

Elren pushed his own broth away. 'My doubts are with the principles of death.'

'Has your clan ever drawn the line? Where fighting back was necessary? The Shamans didn't summon the Wild Hunt when—'

'The shamans wouldn't do such a thing.'

I shook my head slowly. 'I am a staunch protector of those who wishes to practice the Greenpact. It's the essence of Bosmer culture. But sometimes, I feel as if I don't understand what I'm standing up for.'

'So then, you should learn.'

'Teach me.'

The hint of a grin tugged at Elren's smooth lips. We were so close to each other now, sitting in a tavern overlooking an azure sky and flaming horizon through the trees.

And for the first time since the day I met him, Elren began to speak. Not his sporadic here and their words, but long explanations of his clan and the ways of his people. Much of what I understood about Elren was from observations and my brothers. Now I was awash with word-to-mouth exposition. And I loved every second of it.

His clan, the people of the Red Moss, were peaceful Bosmer. They lived secluded away from the cities and villages across Valenwood, hunting, and gathering as any Greenpact would. And they were welcoming of all. But Elren was young, and he was naïve. His clan was the bankers of secrets or _Srekanb Terces_ , in the old tongue. If a devout Mer had hidden knowledge tucked away in the confounds of their brains, their magic would help one lose such memory or hide it away forever. But their abilities didn't start at that, Red Moss clan could hide away power.

Mother sought them in a time of need. To hide away the secrets of the _Ghost Flame_ , that was her goal. It got them killed.

Perhaps some secrets are that valuable.

Elren, who has seen more of the dark side of this life, lives by a code. Like all Greenpact followers, death and war have no place in his mind. In their world, they must avoid it at all cost. Which, of course, is troublesome for people like the Thalmor, who have recreated the Aldmer Dominion to further their agenda around Tamriel. In past eras, the Altmer began and united the Dominion always to lead these people to war, and the Bosmer have always struggled with war. I could see it in Elren's eyes that these principles that he holds himself too are what tears him apart now. They hold him from his revenge.

I only hope he can suffer it a bit longer.

'We should start searching now,' I told the two. 'The sun has dipped below the horizon, and our golden-skinned friends have spread their numbers thin across the city. And as we're looking for this weapons merchant, Augoth, you could fill us in on Torgoth's motivations.'

We walked through the streets for an hour, approaching stalls and sometimes chased off for asking too many questions. Augoth ran his mouth unfiltered all the way through. It was simple really. Like me, Torgoth was the black sheep of his clan. Never talented enough to become the best but always told he'd be great. Much like the many comparisons people had with me and my mother. I was a mere pebble to what she was. Does a spec of dirt understand the difference between a rock and a mountain? No one ever understood. I pitied Torgoth, and my eagerness to meet him only grew.

'Torgoth was never like me,' Augoth said. 'They gave me praise and shunned him. Which is why he prefers working willingly for Monsotar, supplying Nightblades with his creations. My brother always thought the world was against him, and it doesn't help if Monsotar fills his head with delusions.'

'Now there's a growing army armed with Thornbush-enchanted weapons.'

Elren quickened his pace to gain the lead on our trio. The clobbering of wooden boards and the night's music of insects and croaking crawlers filled the streets now. There's a certain ghost sense that creeps on you when you least expect. A feeling crawls your ears when someone is coming—a silent ringing in the ears that tells you to stop what you're doing and pay attention. It's immediate, concurrent sharpness is dull in some sort of ironic, vexatious way.

Elren must have already known it was coming before I knew anything. He popped around Augoth to his right, his hand slipping into his cloak and around the glistening, silver hilt of a throwing knife. As it chased through the air into the shadows, there was a slight spark of lightning that illuminated a cloaked figure hidden behind the veil of shadows. My secondary reaction was to unsheathe my own knife and stand in front of Augoth.

We stood at the mouth one of Arenthia's deep alleyways, just before it emptied out into the main road.

'Come on out,' Elren said. No volume to his voice but it still carried weight. 'You've been following us since the tavern.'

Finally, someone in a blood-colored cloak stepped into the glow of a _gleamblossom_. The cloak hugged the curves of its wearer, the hood was deep and dark, hiding what I could only make out was a smooth, young face, devoid of facial hair. A woman. Better yet, a girl.

She stood a bit pass a meter tall with not much to invoke any intimidation. Sweat glistened over a wide, tanned forehead, her hands disappeared underneath her cloak.

I bit the inside of my cheek, my mind an argosy of impatience. She got this far without me noticing, who else would be able to sneak on us so easily?

'What do you want?' I asked. 'Speak before bad things start happening.'

'That's my question to you,' she said. 'I overheard your conversation earlier in the alehouse. You're looking for Torgoth and not for the right reasons.' She began to walk a little closer towards us. 'I'll give you an ultimatum—turn tail and go home or deal with the Thieves of the Wood.'

I chuckled in delight. 'And I suppose hearing Thieves of the Wood is supposed to make us afraid? If little girls comprise the Woods, then we have nothing to worry.'

She pulled her hood from her head revealing a flawless, bronzed complexion. Her spider-legged eyelashes and _Sensunut_ shaped eyes gave her a false innocuous nature. As she moved, her dewy, valley-green eyes dropped from me to Elren then on to Augoth, who had changed from a flashy show of nobility to an indigent assembly of mismatch rags and an oversized, wax cloak.

'Careful how you operate around here. This city may seem dull, but there are far more workings behind these vine concealed walls.'

I nodded towards a brigade of Dominion Soldiers marching down the street. 'I see that.'

They were stepping in unison with resolute purpose. Curiously, I craned my head back to them as the hastened their pace towards us. Augoth, from behind his veil gasped.

'What is it?' I inquired, my eyes still trained on the dozen or so soldiers.

'Clairvoyance,' he said, simply.

That earned a swear from the girl at the mouth of the alley. She began searching for an immediate escape. I wasn't going to give one to her.

I motioned to wrap my arms around the girl before she could make her move. She was quick, ashamed to say. She sidestepped me, pulled my cloak nearly over my head, and threw me into the wall. I slid into a bush of _Babybriar_ that crept alongside the stone, and slowly dragged my body to the floor in my surprise.

The girl darted out of the alley down the street. The clanking of metal grew louder as the soldiers picked up the pace. Augoth and Elren were already in pursuit when I recovered.

The Altmer behind us were hot on our heels, calling us to a halt.

Elren sneered. 'Get after her,' he said, 'I'll divert them.'

Elren pulled Augoth towards him and crashed into a herd of late-night benders. He burst from the amass of startled night tourist without Augoth and continued to run opposite of me. We kept him there for his own good. That only helped with some of the soldiers, leaving half for me. I stayed no less than a beat behind the mysterious girl as she bobbed and weaved through the nightly crews, crowing gigolos and streetwenches, and the spirited patrons of a popular club.

We slipped into the stone hedge, cutting through apartment after apartment. Invading privacies and encounters. Elven women streaked, Elven men barked, younglings cried as we tried our hardest to lose the soldiers. Blasting through the other side, the Dominion had effectively slowed down, leaving just the two of us.

She was the first to assault. She pulled that deadly knife that deflected Elren's throwing knife earlier. The weapon was short, shorter than a hand even, with a wrapped hilt. I brandished my own knife, staring straight into my new friend's eyes.

'They'll catch up soon,' I said. 'We should hide, talk, and work things out.'

'I'm not going to die because of an enemy of the Woods.' She raised her knife. 'I'll be damned.'

We circled each other slowly, sizing each other's stances.

'Who said we were going to kill you?'

'What are you here for then?'

'To tell Torgoth Thornbush that he no longer need to work for Monsotar.'

A laugh that best fit a mammoth's protest boomed from the petite girl. 'That's almost asking for something worse than death.'

'I don't want anyone dead,' I said through gritted teeth.

'Then leave.'

'I can't do that either.'

Above, the Dominion soldiers were tearing through people's homes in the search for us, thinking we were still among the innocents. The cacophony of clay shattering and the screams of Arenthia's nugatory fodder

'I don't think you understand. I don't approve of your intentions, and it's my duty to protect the operation that we have here.' The girl withdrew that short dagger again. 'Your options are to leave, or I kill you.'

'But is it really your duty? There's too much hesitation in your hands. I can see that this isn't what you really want.' I took out my own Osseinium blade. 'Let's just talk.'

'Who are you?'

'We're the Silver Crescents. And we're going to bring Monsotar down to his knees.' I read the grooves on her face. 'You would like that wouldn't you?'

She said nothing.

'What does he have over you? Why do you fight for him?' I could see it—the wavering resolve in her eyes.

'There are no good guys to help me in this world. They simply don't exist,' she said.

'They do now.'

The girl pulled out another short dagger and activated their enchantments. Long blades made of pure lightning sprang from their tips. The lightning sparkled and sizzled with extreme power, transforming into shortswords from daggers shorter than a hand. I chuckled, looking down at my small bone-forged dagger.

'That's foul play,' I said.

She grinned. 'Are you unable to back your confidence up?'

'Don't get ahead of yourself.'

She charged in. Her feet were quick, steady; her shortswords whipped around in a blur, meeting my dagger; she snapped to my every attack and met my every challenge. Her fighting was impressive. She dipped in and out of my defense like a fox, swimming through the air with precise attacks. It took every bit of skill in me to keep her enchanted knives at bay.

We kept it blow for blow, backing each other into corners and breaking out evenly. We were evenly matched, more so than I was with Elren. There were times where I could easily win against the wild boy, and sometimes I lost. But this girl had no openings, nothing to exploit. Her training showed in her technique.

It was only a matter of time before I faltered. Luckily, it wasn't fatal. I hopped onto a thick outcropping, stepping on its base and leaping into the air, my dagger coming down on her. She flipped and twirled midair, stealing a slash across my left arm. The limb went numb, becoming something that wasn't apart of me. The wound bled, but I did not feel the warm, sticky red spill from it. I gritted my teeth. No matter how much I tried to move my wrist or my fingers, it just hung there lifeless.

Her lightning daggers whipped furiously about, threatening to take the feeling from my body and leave me vulnerable. She brought one down hard, and I brought my dagger up to block.

'Bad mistake,' she said. Our blades clashed.

I grinned. 'Lightning cannot flow through Osseinium as it does other metals.'

She chuckled and pulled forth her other dagger. With a sleight of hand, fighting through the tingle in my left arm, I smacked the weapon free with the limb of my bow.

'Neither can it flow through Iron-Bark.'

'You recovered from that too quickly,' she said, pulling away. 'Who in the Oblivion are you? You fight too well to be some random.'

'I share the same sentiment.' I nodded. 'I'm someone who could help you and Torgoth.'

'And if we don't need help?'

I shook my head. 'Either way, Torgoth needs to cease enchanting for Monsotar. The age of the Thieves of the Wood is at an end.'

'You don't understand what you're getting yourself into. Defying Monsotar has too many consequences. He can and _will_ crush anything that stands in his way. Even the Dominion are wary about him. There is nothing you can do to help me.'

'And it's clear that you don't understand who I am, what I represent, what I am capable of.' I said, a cutting edge to my voice.

'You want to help? You have to—'

The clattering whirr of armor jingled around us as Thalmor Soldiers surrounded every part of our exit? The angry Altmer growl through their visors, eyes of glowing sulfur yellow.

'Damn.' I sighed.

She growled. 'Great. Now we're going to die, and it's entirely your fault,' she said.

We put out backs together and surveyed either side. There must have been over twenty soldiers ready to take our heads. 'My fault?' I gritted my teeth. 'Had you just listened to me instead of attacking.'

'I was beating you, but you're as stubborn as an ox. You wouldn't go down easily.'

I scoffed. 'Don't take it personally, Princess Electricity.'

'I can't get out of this alone, neither can you,' she pointed out. There was a point made in those words.

'You two are under arrest for breaking the laws against Valenwood and her people,' One of the soldiers exclaimed as if he knew what Valenwood's people wanted.

'Okay. Well, what do you have in mind?' I waited for an answer.

'In my pocket, there's a _Magicae Ball_ ,' she said.

'A _Magicae Ball_?'

'Please tell me you know what they are,' she whispered, wryly.

'Yes! They're a favorite thing of mine. I didn't think anyone else used them.'

'They are—' she paused with a bit of excitement left on her tongue. 'Okay, okay, well I do! I'm going to use one now. As soon as I do, jump high into the trees above. Understood?'

'Right.'

The soldier's calls grew impatient. They were going to start attacking, and they'll bring us in dead or alive. I don't think they cared much. The first of them swarmed in, the narrow alley provided us the opportunity to focus on a small number of their ranks at once. I slipped and glided past their attacks and grapples as their long limbs tried to grab hold. My Osseinium dagger made short work of their elven armor, gleaming brass plating made of moonstone wouldn't stand a chance to the expensive work of Valenwood's finest bone smiths.

I whipped my dagger through a soldier's gorget, biting into his flesh. I took his falling body and shielded myself from an onslaught of slashes, the Altmer's cries were muted by his blood-gurgles. I released the body and threw it at them, taking all my strength. In a quick slice of a second, I noticed the Bosmer girl's dagger that I'd knocked from her grip earlier still on the ground and jumped for it. Upon retrieving the dagger, I felt a small flow of energy coursing through it.

This was different from Pondus, it would be different from swords with innate abilities. This was a Thornbush enchanted weapon, for sure, I could feel it deep down—A growing, vast energy. I activated its power, bringing the sparkling lightning to its blade and watched it grow to a forearm length weapon. It sliced through the first sword I parried, cleanly cleaving the enemy's blade in half. I spun on my heels, narrowly dodging other swipes aimed at me, and pulled the lightning blade back and into the soldier's heart. Electricity fed into his body, frying all his organs. I could feel his body spasm and slump on the blade. I pulled it free. The owner of the blade merely touched me with it, and I lost all feeling in my arm for a few moments, but my body has been trained for resilience and strength. I was a small package with large attributes while these Altmer weren't. Anyone else and they would have lost an arm for the rest of the day.

Even with my Osseinium and an enchanted blade, there was still too many to fight on our own.

'I think you can use them now,' I said to the girl.

Towering over us was the sporadic limbs of an enormous willow that weaved its boughs through the entire neighborhood. My new ally against the soldiers slipped her hand into a pocket and pulled out a small orb the size of an eyeball. _Magicae balls_ are tools created by spell-tasked magicka into a dense orb. It's quicker and deadlier than a scroll, and it packs a powerful punch if you aren't ready for it. She drew her arm back and with a mighty thrust, slammed it down to the ground. I was the first to jump for the low hanging, twisted boughs above us. The _Magicae Ball_ burst with the power of a god. Typhoon-force winds whipped through the alley creating a vortex of air so powerful, they lifted me high in the air. My body was sent careening up past the willow's branches, snagging me on everything in the way. In a moment's glance, my friend's body blew towards me, and I reached for her. With my other hand, I snagged onto a vine.

The soldiers smashed and banged with each other, the surrounding mudwalls, and the trees. The chaotic winds had no sides.

My grip on the slick vines began to loosen. We were in the eye of the vortex with only a short way to freedom. I looked down at the girl, her eyes wide with fear. If we didn't do something and fast, our fates would have been the same as the Dominion soldiers here to arrest us.

With my left hand, I hefted her up closer towards me. With her body leveled, I was better able to fulfill my plan. It was daring, but with a bit of ability, we could survive. Quickly, I released the vine, allowing the winds to swing us around. I held on to both of her arms, and we swung around and around. Dizzyingly, I let her go, sending her careening out of the vortex. The forces of her swing provided enough gravity to fly free.

I whipped like a flailing cat out of the tornado of magicka and slammed into the nearest building like a bird smashing into glass.

My groans echoed out in the alley. Luckily there was no one else to witness us escaping. The weapon's merchant girl was already on all fours trying to draw air into her lungs. I peeled myself from the ground.

'I don't think you were supposed to throw it directly under us, you idiot,' I said, panting.

She cried. 'How about showing a little gratitude for saving us?'

I picked up her lightning blade and crept behind her. 'Perhaps, I should!'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah.'

She spun, and I placed the edge of the lightning blade to her neck. The lightning flowed through the weapon and into her body. I cut it short as to merely paralyze her and keep her unconscious. I didn't want her dead, only immobilized. I did like her though. She had spunk.

'Thanks,' I said as her body crumbled to the ground.


	12. We All Have Our Reasons

_Ceril was one of a kind. Such a beautiful heart needed to be protected. People like her was the reason I needed to walk this path._

* * *

Chapter 12: We All Have Our Reasons

It took only five ticks of the sundial for Elren and Augoth to find me sitting beside our weapon merchant's sleeping body. I watched the slow rise of her chest. She had to be about my age, trained from young and forced into a life of crime to sustain herself, or maybe a family. There are few explanations out there that could lead a girl of her age to have such skill with a blade. For me and who my parents are, there were no explanations needed. Perhaps she was a trainee in the Ranger Guard's training grounds, or she could have grown in a harsh environment. For whatever her situation was, it didn't matter. All that mattered now was that she saw reason to turn away from Monsotar's employment.

Elren and Augoth made their way to my side. Augoth, although still startled and a bit frantic in his eyes, was mostly unharmed save for a few scratches from Elren's mighty toss. At this point, he probably realized that outside of Shimmer Root, he is primarily heavy baggage, someone who we'd have to save from death countless times.

'She okay?' Elren placed a finger along her neck, feeling for a pulse.

I nodded. 'She'll be fine.' Curious onlookers poked their heads outside their portholes. 'We should hide before this place is crawling with the gold skins. And I am not in the mood to fight that big one.'

* * *

We carried her to safety and found an abandoned willowhouse on the outskirts of the city. Arenthia's eccentric alleyways and forest-incorporated streets were the perfect screen to three mortals bussing an unconscious body. Arenthia may have been a city built by the pull of three distinct cultures, it was still a city in a Valenwood forest. Inside, knotted branches snaked and twisted through the structure like an entanglement of mating _Pitboas_. A family of _Blackwood monkeys_ voiced their disagreement of our intrusion by tossing fruits and nuts the size of my head down on us. We heard their arguments and answered by way of a throwing knife.

Once we found a good enough spot, deep within the willowhouse, Elren found a long length of mora vine and bound her to a thick twisting of _Monkey ladder lianas_ forming a pillar thicker than a mammoth. She had few callouses and scars on her body in the right places. Elren took them in close examination; his were the same.

I moved a few steps closer for a better look. The scars were those of a gatherer. Many of the tribes living in the forests bear these scars when fishing through the sometimes-spiny undergrowth for berries and fruits. Other scars were nicks and bruises from training. I rubbed my own. Those I knew all too well.

He grimaced and bound her hands with the liana. 'She's Greenpact. Royal tribe like mine.'

'I figured.'

A long, exasperated sigh stretched from Augoth. 'Monsotar exploits them. Uses them. Then when they can no longer offer him anything, allows the Tam'Akar to slaughter them all.'

I nodded. 'Which gives her motive to attack us and protect Torgoth.'

'It's her duty,' Elren said. 'Or else.'

'Like Rindiel.'

Elren clenched his jaw.

There are hundreds of royal tribes of Valenwood. They do not stake claims to any thrones and hold no royalty. They are merely Greenpact Bosmer who used their unique abilities for the people of Valenwood. Elren's tribe, the Red Moss, are known as the secret keepers. They are _Srekanb Terces_ , bankers of secrets in Bosmeris. Despite the power such a clan can hold, Monsotar offered them up to Aridiil and his team, perhaps from some deception conjured by the inquisitors themselves.

I'm sure there are plenty of stories like this girl's, people forced to work for that beast of an elf, protecting their families from utter annihilation. I wish, if only, that I could finally meet him and drive my knife through his heart. Augoth, Elren, Esmond, even my brothers all hold such a strong claim on Monsotar's head, but what more can we all do to keep the sully from the Silver Crescent's name.

There wasn't much talking as we watched the girl grumble in her sleep. The drizzling of streamfalls splashing around to the ground reverberated through the willowhouse, giving the abandoned edifice a seraphic atmosphere. _Watercress-green moss_ peppered with _humming jasmine_ painted every surface, leaving a sweet sent on the tongue.

When finally, she stirred, her eyes moved lazily to all three forms, landing on me. A small chuckled rasped past her dry throat. 'You have a weird way of showing gratitude,' she joked.

I offered her a small _plyleaf_ bota full of fresh water, and she drank it down thirstily.

'Go ahead and torture me,' she said. 'I did all I could.'

'Does Monsotar care about that?' I asked the girl. 'You know your family would still be in danger, even if you died.' I shrugged. 'And like I said, we're here to help you and Torgoth out of the arrangement you're in with the Thieves of the Wood.'

'No torturing,' Elren said, nodding.

She ground her teeth at my words.

'What do you think is going to happen?' She snapped. 'We take your word for it? Two little delinquents and a shaky, old man? We stop working for Monsotar, then what? He'll send Nightblades after us to tear us limb from limb. Torgoth wouldn't want to stop working for Monsotar anyway.'

'What about you? How much does Torgoth trust your judgment?'

'I—' she paused. 'I don't know. I'm just a foot worker—I'm not a member of the Woods. I would never join them officially. But Monsotar—'

'Has your tribe in his grasp,' I finished. 'I think it's time you tell us who we are.' I patted my leather platebody. 'I'm Leila, this here is Elren, and that's Augoth Thornbush, Torgoth's brother.'

'Leila? As in Leila Lockharte? So, the rumors are true then, the Lockharte siblings were behind the collapse of the Hall of Heroes?'

I shook my head slowly. 'No. Monsotar was. In an attempt to kill the Lieutenant of the Tam'Akar, he burned the entire hall down. We just happened to be there.'

Her face had the look of shock and horror. 'With what?'

'A Thornbush enchanted weapon,' Elren finished. 'One so powerful, he can bend an army to his will.'

'Which,' I interjected, 'is why Torgoth can no longer supply these things to the Woods. They're far too powerful. Such power can threaten our leaders.'

'Torgoth doesn't make anything like that.' She nodded towards Augoth. 'That's your doing.'

I pointed at the girl's chest. 'Torgoth is still a detrimental asset to Monsotar, and you know what his abilities are worth.'

Silence slipped between us. Her frustration mirrored mine, but we weren't going to release her until she had some sort of change of mind. There was far too much relying on her revealing Torgoth's location and bringing him in peacefully.

Finally, she broke the silence. I could see the wall around her mind finally cracking. 'As long as I work for him, my tribe is protected. Having a hand in stopping Torgoth here will doom them. I can't.' She started pleading. 'I can't allow that to happen.'

'He's not protecting you,' Elren said. 'He's using you as currency. Selling off tribes for deals.'

'How do you think the Thornbush clan started working for him?' I asked. 'Torgoth was a payment to Monsotar from the Tam'Akar. A payment for something more sinister.'

Elren rolled back his sleeve revealing the tribal sigil of the Red Moss. I've never seen it before, but I recognized it the moment I laid eyes on the ink marks. Conceptual lines signified secretive words falling upon ears as the Red Moss tribe was known for. Her eyes glassed over as she peered at the ink. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

'Elren was apart of the Red Moss tribe,' I told her. 'The deal was facilitated by one of his own, but it was Monsotar that wanted to trade the clan for the power that the Thornbush possess. You see, the Tam'Akar wants my Mother's power, the _Ghost Flame_ , but Monsotar just wants power. Although Augoth created the _Ghost Flame_ , whether or not he could recreate it was no concern of Monsotar. He knows that anything this master enchanter creates is powerful enough to satisfy his needs. The Tam'Akar, on the other hand, are obsessed with the power of Ara of the Ghost Bow, and it was the _Srekanb Terces_ that knew where my mother hid it. I know that Elren's clan never divulged its location, and so Aridiil had them all killed.'

The girl's tear fell in droves, descending in rivulets down the sides of her face. 'I'm so sorry,' she cried. 'How could they.'

Elren took his finger and clean her tears. 'Similar stories all over Valenwood.' He cupped her cheek. 'Help us stop it.'

She nodded, choked on her sobs. On her command, Elren peeled back her cloak, revealing the same type of inked lines from the end of her wrist and up her shoulder. The lines zig-zagged down her arms and ended in several sharp points.

'I'm Ceril Long-Tree of the Raw Tooth tribe. We are a tribe made up of last hunting clans that follow the Greenpact. For the past year, I've worked for the Thieves of the Wood, not as a member, I'm not a thief or criminal, but as a foot worker, helping Torgoth Thornbush here in Arenthia.' She shook her head. 'I... I never wanted this work, and I always thought that by doing it, I was protecting my tribe from this bloody new Valenwood. This province has turned on its own people, and it's sickening!'

'Will you help us, Ceril?'

She stared at the ground for a long while, tears still falling from her face, dripping to the soft moss underfoot. 'I can show you to Torgoth, but there's no guarantee he's going to you. Like I said before, Monsotar treats him well. As long as Torgoth enchants weapons for him.' She looks at her lightning blades. 'He created those for me. Powerful things, they are.' There was some sorrow in her voice.

I slipped my dagger through her bonds and sliced them away. Ceril rubbed at her wrist, raw from bondage. The Greenpact Bosmer were always known to have rigid training in combat throughout history. Even the techniques taught by the Ranger Guard come from the regimes taught to the children in the royal tribes of Valenwood's wilds. It explained Ceril's skill with her blades, her sharpened reflexes, and why Monsotar used Bosmer like her and Rindiel as blades under his shadow. It was skills like that the Silver Crescents needed the most. There aren't many people who could catch me unprepared like this girl did. So far, the only person truly capable was Elren. Perhaps my father should have hired the Greenpact tribes for my training instead of Rollyn. Maybe then I wouldn't have been so oblivious to the truth of my own province.

'First things first,' she began, 'you have to know the passphrase.'

* * *

'Sounds easy enough.'

Roots arching over pillars of sand-washed marble stood tall as stalks, tunneling us through the city's guts like food in an intestine. Their front was a simple one, and yet it has eluded the Dominion for some years now. Ceril played as a merchant in the long, extensive marketplace in the heart of the city. Streets upon streets jumbled along an intricate maze of stores, carts, stalls, and dens where people can purchase their daily needs for a couple of bronze, silver, or gold coins. She owned a stall selling weapons where anyone seeking something a bit sharper than a rusted iron belt knife would come and say a secret passphrase. Ceril brings them here where they meet Torgoth and buy one of his weapons instead. Simple, yet clever.

Torgoth has gone on long enough believing he is something special. He may see a steady flow of coin and a purposeful life, but he has helped to harm Valenwood. Augoth nor I knew if Torgoth cared for Valenwood and would be willing to fight against Monsotar to stop him. Ceril doesn't believe he would, but we had to try. And if he isn't ready to turn against Monsotar, then we still should stop him no matter what.

Augoth walked between us with a wandering gaze on the over-arching pathway. His indifference may be of a suppressed stress, he wouldn't be here if he didn't care what his brother had to say.

'How long has it been?' Augoth broke his contemplating and looked down at me. 'Since you last spoken to your brother?'

'Monsotar kept us apart since for the night of the purge,' Augoth said. 'The last time we spoke, we weren't on good terms. My brother has always despised me for being the better enchanter. He was never...talented like the rest of us. He just worked harder than any other mage in my clan. I once praised him for amending what the Divines owed him. But none of his hard work or the talent that appeared too late for him was enough to best me. So, he hated me. Thought that working for Monsotar was the best thing that ever happened to him.'

'It's not a prison if you enjoy it,' Elren said with his faint voice.

Ceril raised a hand. 'We're here.'

We stopped at a large iron door bolted into the stone molested with _Mora vines_ and thick woody lianas. Flowering _gleamblossoms_ illuminated the dark pathway around the door. We were partly submerged under an intricate roof of plantlife covering every inch from the door. The patter of feet, the creaking of wagon wheels, and the thunderous chatter of a thousand murmurs put us directly under the marketplace.

Ceril took a step forward towards the door and ran her hand over the three flat leaves that hued their brightest at her touch. The door clicked and whirled like a chime dangling in the winds. The arm-thick _Mora vine_ retreated, snaking it's away in retraction to coil just above the iron bolts formed into the door. Once the vine released the locking mechanism, the door slowly creaked open, causing a soft light to spill from the abode. It was the pinkish glow of a _Silk Tassel bush_ painted the room in a deep luminous gloom. The sweet smell of dirt mixed with the tang of burning metal fumed from inside. Ceril pushed the door open.

For those of us that love weapons—a trait I believed I picked up from my tutor, who was a weapons master that could recall the very day a smith forged a weapon and what impurities the metal possess by just holding it—this shop was a paradise. There wasn't a blade or blunt that a warrior couldn't find here. Suits of armor from every ethnic group of Tamriel suited to mannequins lining the walls throughout the shop. There were many weapons on displays, hanging from racks, and pushed into bins made of tightly grown roots. Exotic blades so farfetched that I didn't believe they'd be any good in a fight. There were blades forged into the shape of a crescent, some went full circle with a hilt crossing the center. Zigzag blades, shaped like a lightning bolt, look far too impractical to have a use. The broadswords looked as if someone forged them for a giant, and to counter that, some of the smaller weapons were needle thin meant for the hand of a mouse.

Augoth was the first to approach his brother's arcane enchanter in the next room, he ran his hand along the five-meter-long fig. Someone naturally grew the bench, adhering to the Greenpact's _florasingers_. A shrub of sorts developed at length with each branch weaving into a flat surface. Its leaves stretch into a marble-like substance, making a hard, flat surface for enchanting. Y'ffre's light swam through the stems of each leaf, pulsating and changing into the astral symbols of alteration, conjuration, enchanting, restoration, and illusion. This was what Torgoth used to enchant the weapons that Monsotar supplied his army of thieves and criminals with.

There was one section of the wall that caught my eyes. It doesn't matter how much of a newbird you were, everyone knew of the Iron-Bark wood that was native to Valenwood before the opening of the Oblivion gates. It's one of Valenwood greatest heartbreaks. I took several steps closer, unable to discern what I was seeing. Finally, I approached the sword sitting on a bed of tree-shaped stacks. I rubbed my eyes to dissolve their deceit, but I couldn't.

The sword was a simple straight edged blade like any standard blade, but it was its material, its hilt, its choice of representation that took me back.

'Iron-Bark,' a voice said from behind. 'It's Iron-Bark.'

I topped around to see a Bosmer only half ahead taller than I was. Old age draped his eyes with wrinkles bracketing his deep, mint eyes. They were the same as Augoth's—the color of frost covered grass that grew on the Dragonteeth mountains to the east. He wore the long dress robes of an enchanter made of ivory and buffalo leather and wool. His skin was paler than Augoth's. Long hours living underneath the city would do that. But Torgoth must never leave; the sun shines too brightly in Arenthia for someone to look so.

'I suppose my assistant showed you in?' He said with a wry grin.

I spared a glance towards the others and watch them slip from view. I nodded. 'Yes, she has.'

'Very good.'

'I'm Torgoth Thornbush.' He curtsied a short bow.

'Raven,' I said quickly, not feeling comfortable lying to a Bosmer I was there to help. 'The sword?'

'Ah,' he began. 'A bit of a lesson comes with this one. Iron-Bark is a type of wood that was once upon a time only native to Valenwood.'

'The Dremora came and mined them all,' I added, fishing from the lessons in history by my old tutor.

'Correct. It's good to see a youth so well-versed in history,' Torgoth praised.

I could tell Torgoth was passionate about these weapons. Much more passionate than Augoth was. It seems the two brothers feel contrary about various aspects of their lives and abilities. 'Tell me more,' I told him.

I wanted to find an in so that coaxing him over to our side wouldn't be a hassle. We didn't need to solidify his loyalty to Monsotar no more than it already was.

'Well, with Iron-Bark being wood, that meant it came from a tree, a very rare tree, even back then. But there's a dark truth to its history as well.' Torgoth glanced at the sword. 'Iron-Bark Trees were the only trees native to Valenwood that wasn't protected under the Greenpact. You see, the Lockharte clan were Iron-Bark farmers who would mine the trees they grew to protect Valenwood. Its wood was harder than any metal produced from here to North of the Imperial Province. It made the Lockharte great warriors and one of the main reasons why Faengal Lockharte and Leisanna Straight-Shaft founded the Ranger Guard after the military blunders of the Five-Year War and the War of the Blue Divide.'

The mentioning of my ancestor was a little shock to me. 'So, what you're saying is that after losing war after war, we Bosmer were tired of dying to foreign powers? What does that have to do with Iron-Bark?'

'The great warrior Leisanna Straight-Shaft approached her close friend Faengal Lockharte, the forerunner of the Lockharte farming clan, asking them to create weapons that could turn the tide for all Bosmer. The two formed the Ranger Guard out of a need, and the Lockhartes brought their Iron-Bark with them. Which is why the badge of the Watchmaster is an Iron-Bark shortsword.'

I nodded towards the sword that lay on its bed. 'What about this one?'

His brow went up at that 'This, my dear girl, is the Twilight's Talon. This sword has no known wielder.'

Even with the simplicity of its form, its style was a courageous bout. The creator of the Iron-Bark sword overlaid ebony metal along the blade, making the metal swirl within the wood. Iron-Bark and ebony went along well; the very properties of Iron-Bark were like that of ebony. The wingspan of a blackbird made up its hilt, leading down an ebony handle and a pommel of curled black talons. 'No wielder?'

'I speculate that a Dremora must have owned it.'

'No one knows what the Daedra did with the Iron-Bark,' I explained. 'Not even the Mage's Guild knew what became of it after being carried away by Daedra. If they did try to make weapons with it, why a single sword?'

'I can't explain it further than that, but what I do know is that this sword has never been used before. It's as sharp as the day it was carved and forged into this form.'

There was something about the sword that called to me. Some vague feeling growing in the pits of my belly. Like the night of the raven that led me away from Spring-Garden Manor and towards the rest of my life. Did the same force call to me now? 'How much for it?'

Torgoth smiled and shook his head slowly. 'It's not for sale, young Raven. This is a priceless antique. There's no amount of coin that can purchase it.'

'Surely a deal can be worked out for such a rare item? An amount of coin so vast, you never have to work in this ditch ever again.'

Torgoth scanned his little lair, eyes running over the various weapons and ornate armor sets.

'If you love enchanting weapons, then you could open somewhere...on the top.' I point up towards the street.

'I—I like it down here,' he said.

I chuckle. 'You're like a talented mole being hidden. Do the Thieves of the Wood not value your talents? Shouldn't you be able to bask in the entire world's grace?'

His face grew rigid. He's a bit tougher mentally than his older brother. 'What is your request, Raven?' He turned and clapped. 'Where has that damned assistant of mine run off to?'

'I already gave you my request,' I said to his back.

'And I said it's not for sale.' He huffed his chest. 'Quickly choose what you want, and I shall fulfill your request. And I hope you have enough coin to cover it!'

'Torgoth Thornbush,' I said. 'It's okay to want recognition for your gift. Where that recognition comes from is the problem.'

'What? Ceril! Ceril, by the gods, where in the Void are you?' Torgoth clapped some more.

I reached underneath my cloak and snagged my own Iron-Bark bow from the strap on my back. Torgoth flinched and reeled back at the sight of a weapon but soon realized what it was. He clambered over towards me, hands out and shaking with anxiety. I pulled the bow away. He pleaded to see it, but I asked him to find some composure first.

'Where did you get that,' he roared.

'It's mine.'

'Impossible,' he snapped. 'That is a Lockharte family heirloom. The Lockhartes aren't a clan some little girl can steal from. Not even the Daedra could retrieve their infamous Iron-Bark bows.'

I shrugged. 'Only if they're dead. A lot of the Lockhartes of old had their tombs raided by daedric forces during the Oblivion Crisis so they could steal their Iron-Bark.'

'You can't be!'

'I am.'

Torgoth spun on a heel and reach into a small nook, carrying a plethora of old books. He flipped through one of them and landed on a page. His old finger scratched down a page and tapped a single passage.

'Faeden, Milkar, Aranwen, Leila, Mano, Saelin, and Treethane Souel are the only Lockhartes I know of that would bear the heirloom.' He looked up at me. 'Who are you?'

'Daughter of Faeden Lockharte, Leila at your service.'

Torgoth eyes widened as he took a step back. 'I've heard—'

'Oh?' I chuckled. 'Heard what?'

I took several steps towards Torgoth. He kept at a distance, allowing me to angle him to where Augoth and Elren hid. This was our only chance to convince him or take him down. We were going to burn this place down and stop his production once and for all. This place had significance for the Thieves of the Wood. A place that made Monsotar a good portion of his coin. "To assure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies" was what Esmond told us.

'There are people all over Tamriel that would benefit from your weapons. People that would give high praises—make you rich even.'

'No! They scorn me!'

'So, what do you think is going to happen when Monsotar is done with your services. When Valenwood is finally destroyed under his watch. I'm only trying to help you and the province.'

'Get out! Get out!'

'Torgoth,' Ceril finally appeared behind him.

'Ceril! Help! Get her out of here now.'

'I can't,' she said. 'Just listen to her. My entire tribe is in danger if I stay employed under Monsotar.'

'You little—!'

'I'm sorry to have to come to you like this, Torgoth.' Augoth now. 'We're here to reassure you that it will be okay to leave Monsotar.'

'Augoth?' Tears began to form in the corner of Torgoth's old eyes. 'I thought you were killed by the Tam'Akar. How are you still alive?'

Augoth shook his head. 'It wasn't only the Tam'Akar trying to kill me. It was Monsotar.'

'What? You were his best pet! Why would he kill you?'

Augoth sniveled at the remark. 'Damn you, Torgoth. Are you so blind? You've seen it, haven't you? Goldfire?'

'You created it?' Torgoth snarled. 'You've always wanted all the attention!'

'I was forced to!'

'Lies! You hated all the praise I was getting.'

Augoth searched his brother's eyes for any recognition of the Bosmer he once loved. His little brother that he knew before the world shunned them both.

'Monsotar tried to kill me, Torgoth.' Augoth almost sounded defeated. 'He wanted to execute me until the Lockharte siblings saved me. Even I was expendable.'

Torgoth turned to me. 'You should have allowed it to happen. Ceril, I demand you to get them out of here before I tell Monsotar of your betrayal.'

'Call me a betrayer all you like, Torgoth. But I will never turn my back on the Raw Tooth.' Ceril slipped her daggers from their scabbards and activated their lightning.

I sighed and patted Torgoth on the back. 'There's the hard way, and there's the easy way.' He flinched. 'Go down with Monsotar or join your brother, be protected, worry about nothing from here on out,' I shrugged, 'your choice, old man.'

Torgoth gulped. He looked past me towards the wall of exotic swords. 'Who—Oh no!'

I spun around to see a robed, short child eyeing Twilight's Talon. He hooked his hands behind his back as if he held a burden of wisdom like a wise elf. Long blonde hair flowed from his small head and braided into a ponytail. My heart stopped beating for what seemed like too long, then they pounded as heavy as forest drums.

The four of us stared at the boy's back for eternity, frozen in place. Death has never been so quiet. He was casual like a curious intellectual strolling through a museum. Those robes were Tam'Akar, and their wearer was undoubtedly Liemo, a child younger than me but stronger Aridiil.


	13. Pushed Limits

_There's nothing meaningful about peace under an illusion._

* * *

Chapter 13: Pushed Limits

Torgoth turned to us, the fear written in the wrinkles lining his face. We all knew what this was and how it would end. The Tam'Akar has yet to show us the civil arrest since my fight with Aridiil alongside Tutor Rollyn. That night I believe I was witness to Rollyn's murder, but there was no way to help him at that point. These Tam'Akar bastards always leave a bad taste in my mouth, and for only four of them to have a presence here in Valenwood, I see them too often.

The enchanter gulped and strode slowly to Liemo as the boy examined the weapons silently. When Torgoth reached his side, he looked down ready to gauge the situation.

'How can I help you, sir?' Torgoth asked him.

'These are illegal,' Liemo said. His voice was high and sweet as any eight-year-old boy's voice.

'I—I can assure you—'

Liemo pointed towards Twilight's Talon. 'Is that Iron-Bark?'

'It is. Listen I—'

'That is a material the Countreeve expects reported.'

Torgoth broke down crying. His face exploded with tears and snot unbecoming of any elf in any predicament. The old elf dropped to his knees, head at the boy's feet, sniveling and groveling, pleading for his life.

'Please!' Torgoth cried. 'Please, it's not my fault, please!' He looked up, crazed. 'It's—it's their fault, I swear to it!'

'Brother...' Augoth murmured.

'Please spare my life. I beg of you!'

I sighed. 'Stand up, Torgoth. He's eight for divine's sake.' I began motioning towards the youngling Tam'Akar inquisitor.

'Seven,' Liemo interjected.

'Ban Daar's mischievous balls!' I grimaced in surprise. 'You're hassling century-old men and you only just got off your mother's tit.' My confidence was a bluff, I wanted to run and never look back. To think this boy still has another two hundred years to reach his prime.

Torgoth jabbed a finger at me. 'You brought him here! You killed us all!'

'On the contrary,' Liemo began, 'Aridiil ordered me to spare Augoth Thornbush and the Lockharte girl.'

Torgoth fell back on his arse and tried to crab crawl away. 'No, I'm going to fight back. I won't die here!'

Torgoth ripped a sword from its stand and charged Liemo. Against my protest, he raised the blade and brought it down. Liemo didn't move an inch. It wasn't until the sword was only centimeters away from cleaving him in two did he raise a single finger and plucked the air in Torgoth's direction. The old enchanter went careening across the entire lair and crashed into his enchanter's table. Bones cracked, the table splintered, but the groans from Torgoth told me he was still alive.

In one of those moments, the Augoth I knew disappeared. All cowardice erased at the site of his brother meeting a beating, I tried to grab for the mage, but he pushed me aside with more strength than I thought he could muster. Liemo crunched his hand into a fist and raised Augoth to the ceiling with mastery control of _Telekinesis_ and threw him onto Twilight's Talon's display. Augoth crumbled and fell unconscious with a cacophony of metal clattering.

I wasted no time following after Augoth, swiping up a sword more suitably reminiscent of a needle. Its hilt was short enough for one hand, guarded by a dome of brass. The blade extended a meter long like a stick with a very sharp end. I lunged for the Altmer boy, my pounding heart caused my body to tremble. Liemo lived up to his legend. He turned just in time with a raised hand, a spell forming at the center of it. I felt the needle sword bite in and sink. Magicka whirled around his hand as it ate the sword slowly. With every push, the end of the blade gradually disintegrated as if his palm was devouring the blade. I caught his eyes with mine; those hard, golden specs pierced my soul. He was so young. Too young. Liemo still had baby fat rounding his cheeks, yet with all their brilliance, his eyes were not that of a child. It was like facing a Dremora in true light.

Without me seeing, he charged a spell with his free hand and punched the air towards me. I reeled with the wind blast across, hearing the eerie words fall from Liemo's mouth.

' _Zephyr_.' Liemo whispered.

What happened after he cast the spell was anything but a whisper. There was an audible pop, and I was careening through _thistle lianas_ , M _ora vine_ , and sap-hardened bark walls. The blast had such a force, I exploded out of the shop through the walls into an empty space that was half-buried.

Only the strength of Wind destruction could muster such force. Wind magic was stronger than even water magic and just as hard to master. Even stronger than the combination variant of water and wind, the ice destruction spells. The common people would never hope to ever cast a wind spell. Even if they were able to find a master to teach them the destruction spells, the magicka cost for even the simplest of wind spells would kill them. No one knows why mixing wind destruction and water destruction as ice is far easier. This boy uses them like nothing.

I climbed out from under the destruction, every bone and muscle in my body aching. Simply breathing became a chore without the spreading the hurt. I tried to rise but pain lanced straight through my ribs. I was broken. I looked up to see half the street collapsed down on Torgoth's shop, but Liemo stood there, amused by what he'd done. He produced an extrinsic black dagger and moved towards Torgoth. Finally, Elren blocked Liemo's path. The two stared at each other for a fleeting moment.

'You're that boy from the Red Moss tribe,' Liemo said, pointedly. 'If you've survived then you must be strong.'

Elren nodded. There was an indifferent fold on his brow. 'I did. I am. I must be. Strength will help me find the survivors of my people.'

'Survivors?' Liemo raised a brow.

Elren's face relaxed into a smile. My friend wielded a long sword in each hand, either hand as his lead. Elren's ambidextrous sword arm style gave him the advantageous when double-wielding—all that training with Aranwen's technique.

As the two fell into their dance, I clawed my way out and up a root-patterned wall. Cold sweats washed me with discomfort, and the pain in my ribs was all too debilitating.

I was at my limit.

I dropped down to my knees after a small attempt to walk. Panting and crying, a hot boil rose within me. 'This isn't who I am,' I cried. 'I'm strong. I'm strong. I'm strong like Mother.' The tears slid down my cheeks, burning open scratches.

Elren still clashed with Liemo. He wielded doubled the strength of the child inquisitor, but Liemo was a master of the arts. No matter how much stronger Elren is, Liemo's unlimited pool of magicka allowed to bolster his strength and speed through the whole fight. He wouldn't hold out very long against that. In the corner, Ceril had helped Torgoth reawaken after being thrown across the shop. Against the wall, half buried by his brother's merchandise, Augoth stirred awake.

There was no way I could get to them with the pain biting into my sides. Against protests of pain, I dragged my arms around my side and underneath my cloak. My bones creaked and popped by the effort—I wanted to sleep. I slipped a vial from a pocket and brought it to my face. Broken. Most of its contents seeped out a fine crack in the glass. The other bit rolled around the annular space, mixed with glass and dirt. It won't do much, but if I did nothing, my friends would die. I tipped the remaining liquid down my throat, spitting the miniscule shards of glass from my tongue. The effects of the potion began immediately. I felt my bones crack back into place, erasing the sharp stabs from my ribs to the dull ache that took the energy right out of me. Potions are only fully effective if one consumes the right amount. This would only award me a short break from my broken ribs.

Beams of light shot down from the newly formed holes from above, I heard the screams and murmur of the people above the shop felt the aftermath of the battle down here. They were beginning to form a ring around the openings, trying to sneak a peek at the happenings down below. I looked up to see the faces of the people, horror, and confusion arranged their faces.

I limped quickly over to Augoth. Elren flipped near Augoth's feet, nearly losing his balance. Liemo profited on Elren's misstep and sent a slashing wave of the _Flames_ spell making him fall his back.

'Elren!' I screamed. I ignored all pain and slammed myself into the Liemo, his small body too light to be as powerful as he was.

Liemo slammed into a table with an " _oof._ " I rolled away and curled up waiting for his daedric dagger to pierce me through.

'Get up and fight!' Ceril jumped in to aid us. The lightning on her blades sparked their maximum output; she looked as if she fought with two lightning bolts from the sky. The sound of her blades swinging and clashing with Liemo was that of ten thousand chirping birds in one cage.

I stood up, holding my ribs, blood and sweat seeping from my body. Elren stood up, and Augoth regained consciousness. I looked back at the two, their faces grim. I brought them here. This was my doing. Now, I can't let them die; I don't want to be the cause of their deaths. We didn't come here to lose—not to the Tam'Akar or the Thieves of the Wood.

I limped over to Augoth, who laid strewn over a pile of sharp weapons and slipped my hand under him. With a quick groan, I pulled free Twilight's Talon. Augoth watched me with tired but incredulous eyes. I placed the sword on his limp form, and he wrinkled his brow.

'Please,' I begged. 'Please give me the power to protect my brother's dream. I want to rewrite all the wrong that they've wrought upon Valenwood.'

Augoth looked down at his hands. It must have been the clearest he's seen them in a long time, all thanks to Esmond's healing spells. 'I—'

There was so much hesitation in his eyes. Augoth thought his power a curse that will be abused by the malevolence of Man, Mer, and Beastfolk. He gave Ara High-Arrow the power to destroy the horde of Daedra that threatened our province. Monsotar forced him to create Goldfire, forced him to create instruments that destroyed instead of protected. I wanted to protect; to bear the burden of the shadows that my brother cannot if he planned to serve the common people. This wasn't a world in which others would see heroes, there was no restitution for the rebel.

Our rise needed to be pure. People needed to Milkar Lockharte as a savior, not the criminal of an organization. He needed to be the light that Mother was, sharing in the brilliance, helping the people fight corruption and genocide by these gods-damned Thalmor bastards and the people who would help them. All the brilliance will cast a long shadow. And it is in that shadow I will be. As his protector and his blade.

Augoth ran his hand slowly over the Iron-Bark wood, looking down at his reflection. The wood, when expertly carved and forged had the appeal of steel or iron, but many times the strength of either. 'Your mother came to me with a similar plea. All my life, I'd been approached by warlords, criminals, and selfish people from all across Tamriel. People who wanted the power to defeat their enemies and crush their competitions. But your Ara saw something in me, a Bosmer that could make all the difference. She said I was just as much the reason for her victory as she was. Perhaps even more so, because without me, she said, Valenwood would have fallen.' Augoth swallowed hard. 'At this moment, I am left with the same choice—even if it doesn't seem so. I believe that it is you and your brothers that will save the Greenpact and the core of Valenwood's heart.'

Behind us, Liemo blasted Ceril's side with his fire destruction magic. She careened off a wall and pitched limp to the side. A slow breath escaped a breath as smoke rose from her wounds.

'Under Aridiil's order, I am forced to take you and Augoth down to the Thalmor Embassy in Elden Root. You will comply, or you will lose your life.'

I whipped around to face the boy half my size. 'So, what if you will?' I barked. 'So, what if Torgoth works for the Thieves of the Wood? The Tam'Akar used the Woods before, now you're against them?'

'You filthy rats scurry around the forest believing your ways are beneficial to the world,' Liemo said, bitterly. 'The separated tribes of old has kept the Bosmer divided for centuries. It has always been the Altmer to support you like dirty children raised by wolves.'

'So, kill us all and be done with it. Take Valenwood. Cleanse us and the Khajiit from Tamriel; erase our history, destroy our homes in the trees. Make it quick if you feel a burden taken care of us _savages_.' I spat the words out. In the face of death, anger is sometimes the only comfort.

The little boy smiled. And for a moment, I pictured being that age again—an eight-year-old child with too much power in my hands. I saw myself standing in front Tutor Rollyn again, not powerful like Liemo, nowhere near, but as the crying imp of a girl. I was scared back then, and I didn't know why. But I knew now; Mother's power is far out of reach, but a new power is close.

Liemo raised his hand to send us off to Aetherius. A powerful spell swirling in the palm of his hand. What I saw there was my and my friend's demise. This was it.

But something possessed me in that tiny sliver of a moment. The confidence I didn't know was there. I raised my own hand to his own, fist closed. Then I smiled and opened my hand.

The explosion was deafening. The light emitting from Augoth was hundreds of times brighter than the sun. I swung around, screams already singing from my throat. I wrapped my eyes around my face and dropped to the floor. There was an oddity to this blast. I felt no pressure, no heat, nothing. Just a blinding light and a rank but bloody, boiling stench coming from Augoth.

'What did you do?' Liemo's voice.

I opened my eyes to Augoth in the same position. Twilight's Talon still sat on Augoth's palms, this time smoke whispered in quick wisps. Augoth's eyes suck into his head, making him far older than before. Drivel fell from his jowls in long spittle lines. Only the whites of his eyes showed. His bones cracked under the weight of the swords. Something was wrong.

On the Iron-Bark sword, three runes chased up its fuller. Etched and burned into the wood. The black ebony metal swirled as if it were a churning liquid, flaring like a flame, squirming like a snake. I took the opportunity to catch Liemo with his guard down. I spun around on the ball of my left foot to deliver the Tam'Akar mage a kick to his face. The boy went sprawling with the force. It earned only a second, but it was more than enough time to draw Twilight's Talon.

Once removed, Augoth fell over, his hands were far worse than the usual burns using his power cursed him with. Every bit of flesh on his hands burned off the bone, leaving the shiny, white skeleton exposed to the world. He grunted as his chest hit the ground. Still alive. He was still alive.

I whipped around with a flurry of attacks, countering Liemo's quick dagger skills. My swordplay overwhelmed the boy in quick succession. I tucked my sword under his guard and cut his dagger from his hand. He fell on his back and raised a spell towards me.

'Try it.' I lifted Twilight's Talon towards him. The pressure from the sword's power coursed through me. I felt everything Augoth put into its enchantment. The Master Enchanter gave it his all.

One of the runes forged on the blade began to glow an ominous violet color, sending the neon glow up the edges. Slowly, I stabbed the tip into Liemo's hand. Instead of eating away at the sword, Liemo's magic dissipated and blood spilled from his palm.

'You've lost,' I said.

'Me?' Those golden orbs of his lost their intimidation. Now I only saw him for the boy he was. 'I never lose!'

'There's a first for everything.'

I spared a glance back to Augoth. He was still breathing. Which meant, we could save him.

Elren had recovered and made his way to my side. He sucked the inside of his cheek and spat a lengthy line of blood to the side. Such unspoken fury thrummed through the bulging veins on his arms and up his neck. It was clear we were outmatched by the child because of the sheer depth of his magicka pool. There was no bottom to it. Children like him don't come around often, and if the rumors held any truth, they're usually taken away by the Psijic Order. I wondered why the mythical group missed this one.

I lowered my sword, my eyes still on Liemo. 'Elren,' I said. Elren didn't reply. 'Take them and go. You have to get Augoth to Esmond as soon as possible.' I looked down at the enchantment coursing great power through the sword. 'Although, I think this might be his last enchantment.'

'You can't take him on alone,' Elren grumbled lowly.

'I can,' I assured him. 'I can feel it. This sword. The connection to _her_.'

Elren shot me a look of protest. I honored his eyes with surety as well as intensity. If I were to die here, then I would have died for what I believed in. If I triumph here, then Milkar's dream will come closer. I smiled bitterly. Taking out even one Tam'Akar inquisitor would be the equivalent to thwarting an entire battalion of Dominion Soldiers. Was I satisfied with that? Can't truly say. But at least I can die for something that _I_ wanted. Not my father nor my Tutor or any old bastard looking to exploit my talents.

'You're not going anywhere.' Liemo lifted his hand and sent a wall of flame screaming into the shop.

I cut through the flames, dissipated every lick with my new sword. Twilight's Talon sizzled with delight.

'These symbols, these runes,' I said. 'Do you know what they mean?'

Liemo didn't seem like he cared.

'On every portrait, every carving, every word-woven story, Mother had these runes on her forearms. They were what gave her the power of the _Ghost Flame_ , you see.' I wasn't sure if these runes were the _Ghost Flame_ , but I felt something growing inside the sword. Festering and hungering for power.

Liemo released more of his magic attacks. Ice, fire, and lightning spewed from his hands all at once. The lightning bolt was the first to hit, its power cut through the wood of the walls. Everyone ducked, but the ice threatened to bury us under a sheet. I flicked Twilight's Talon up and braced the sword against the master level destruction spells. The sword illuminated in a violet hue swimming at the touch of magicka.

In the crevices of my peripherals, Ceril darted around Liemo's flank, her lightning daggers extended in long blades. She made three swiping strikes towards the boy, but the enchanted twin dagger merely bounced off the boy's skin.

' _Dragonskin_!' I roared. The Alteration spell negated all physical attacks when cast. It was the highest caliber defense spell in the Alteration school.

I switched to Elren again. 'Get out of here, or we all die!'

Elren stared up at the growing crowd that surrounded the top of the shop. The people stared down at our battle despite the danger presented. Twilight's Talon trembled under my grip, sending shockwaves coursing through my very being. It called to me with the same voice of the raven with the emerald in its beak. That same yearning I felt that night—the call.

I held the sword with both hands braced against the black winged cross guard. Across the blade the ebony metal flared around the wood of the Iron-Bark, the new runes bolstered its power. Was this what Mother felt all those years ago? This unending power? Questions swam in my head.

Elren gave me his goodbyes and took up Augoth in his arms. Ceril whipped Torgoth on her shoulders and fell in after Elren and Augoth.

Finally, I was alone with Liemo.

'You leave yourself vulnerable? Do you underestimate me, girl?'

'Underestimate you?' I inquired the boy. The last of the fear in my heart disappeared quickly holding this sword. 'I didn't want to fight you, Liemo of the Tam'Akar. I wanted to go about my business without your interference, but here we are. Yet, for all that you are, and what you've done, I don't want to kill you. If I do, then my brother's plans would have gone to waste. The Silver Crescents would be considered an evil entity, and we would be hunted down.'

Liemo squealed with a laugh. 'Is that what your goal is? You wish to commit to some noble thief's creed?'

'I don't know what it is. But I do know that our so-called leaders aren't doing their jobs of protecting the people. So, I will be the one to take the step.'

'A hero?'

'I've already explained this to your lieutenant. My mother was a hero. Me? I don't wish to be such a thing. I don't want a parade. I don't want carvings of my likeness. I don't want any of it. You see...I don't care if my name is tainted in blood and cast in shadow, as long as the people I love are safe. As long as Valenwood stays a free state.'

Liemo stared with discontent.

'Aren't we the same in that aspect?' I asked. 'Aren't you willing to do whatever it takes for what you believe in, Liemo?

'I fight because elvenkind has been pushed around for far too long,' Liemo said. 'Because the Empire forced my people to worship a false god because I watched my parents become refugees to the Empire; I watched them be slaughtered, all because a human thought they were spies. If an elf doesn't support the Aldmeri Dominion and what we are meant to become, then they are against us.'

'You must realize the hypocrisy in forcing the Bosmer into the Altmerish pantheon and slaughtering the tribespeople? Your Tam'Akar has crossed a line. Through your bitterness, you've become the same evil you despised.' I lifted and stroked the air with Twilight's Talon. The sword sang like a raven's crow.

Liemo stepped forward with a snarl twisting his face. He steadied his hands before my sword, his eyes wary of the enchantment. Liemo blew a breath on his daedric dagger, mystical green magic wrapped the blade like a mist, infusing it with magicka. I've seen a technique like that before, the spell bolsters the blade to withstand almost any damage.

I charged in with a lunge but feigned into a slash. Liemo sidestepped the blow, twirling away with light feet. I spun into another slash, and he raised his dagger to clash with Twilight's Talon. The spell curling around his black blade helped some against Twilight's Talon but not much. The force of my blow sent him careening through the air. I slipped my sword through my belt and hopped up on the hanging debris from Liemo's previous attacks, making my way to the gaping hole above Torgoth's shop.

The humid air held me in place above the wide pit. Mer, man and Beastfolk alike laid their eyes on my face. The clamor of voices was deafening. They recognized me—they knew who I was. These people are who I'm supposed to protect. But they call me a criminal—that's okay. I glared back at them.

'If you all don't want to die, then I suggest you take several steps back,' I told them. I pierced my stare through the crowd, looking for Elren and the others. 'Get back.'

A vortex of winds blasted up from below the ground. Typhoon-force winds made feather work of anything not built into the ground. Even myself was almost picked away like I was nothing. The force reminding me of my mortality even in the brief period of empowerment.

It was this sword that filled me with so much confidence. The power coursing through this blade teased me, slipping a bit of energy with strong vibrations on my arm. I could feel it hungering for me to use it. I stabbed the ground with it, not even the _clayform_ ground was thick enough to stop the sword's enchantment. It inched in as if the ground wasn't _clayform_ but butterfat. It made a excellent staple against Liemo's explosion of magic.

The civilians around me began to scatter like cockroaches. For all the courage in their prying, I suppose they knew their life was in danger.

Liemo was strong. He was the strongest child I've ever fought, but I didn't feel the despair I felt against Aridiil or Florentine. After all, he was still only eight springs.

Small hands reached the edge of the opening. In a moment, Liemo climbed out. Those golden eyes alight with anger, red on his childish cheeks, and blood on his tongue. He wanted my head, and I wasn't going to give it to him.

'I'm sorry about your mother and father,' I called over the whipping winds. 'I'm sorry there were no Silver Crescents to save them from the evil of people.'

'The evil of people?'

'The people that are supposed to protect us are still susceptible to the same evils they protect us from. That's why my brother has founded the Silver Crescents to keep those who corrupt in check.'

Liemo scoffed. 'And that goes for your brother as well, doesn't it? Who will be there for him to answer to?'

I thought about the answer for a moment. Who would be there if power got the best of Milkar? What would happen if the Silver Crescents lost their way? Who could stand against my brother? The answer was clear as day as I looked down at the power that I now possessed. I looked at the small boy with his black inquisitor robes, his fluttering cape, golden eyes, and moonstone fiber trimmed hood and said, 'Me.'

The question as with its answer stumped me for a moment. I never thought of Milkar mishandling his promise to us was in the realm of possibility.

'Me,' I said, this time nodding as if to reassure myself that I meant it. The truth hits hard.

There's a horror in discovering the mortality of the ones you idolize. Their limitations. That time when your parents can't keep you safe; when your tutor was dead wrong; or when the leaders say take the wrong path because they don't carry the strength to choose the right one. It steals from you, what you believed—what made you...you. A robbery of all that you are.

Liemo closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. It was time to finish this fight. I wanted no savior, I was tired of others saving me. I knew better that my luck will run dry, no matter how much the aspect of luck and shadow has blessed me. This will end with me dead, tortured, or triumphant.

'Separate me from all that you believe in, Liemo. I'm something different. With my own triumphs and my own failures. Neither Empire nor Dominion can place blame on the natural force of things. And I _am_ a force, Liemo. I am something more than the Silver Crescents, the Woods, your Dawn Dragons, and even the Bosmer of Valenwood's wilds.'

A new ideology that racks the foundations of this province. That's who I'm meant to be. Something that isn't driven by the gods or destiny.

A true rogue.

With a roar, I swiped my sword at the air, sending the winds away. The ghastly phantom cries of the winds subsided revealing the town's market left in pure ruin. Buildings laid crumbled with merchant's stalls. When the final bit of winds dissipated, the Aldmeri's soldiers poured from alleys and crevices about the city square.

'You want me?' I clenched my jaw then growled. ' **Then come and get me!'**

A large number of Dominion soldiers came crashing down on me with one big battle cry. I held Twilight's Talon tight in my grip and poised myself. Flee? No. Beg for mercy? No. I fought. I fought as the Raven at my brother's side. With a vision of a home that I could be proud of, I charged. I careened with their bulk, cutting through the first rank into the second, third, then fourth. I met the wall of my limits and pushed through it. I soared just like the black raven through the twilight.

My strikes landed home every time. I allowed my muscles to remember their continuous training in the years leading up to this day. And they remembered well. My leathers creaked with the strain of the sheer speed and violence of my body's output. Twilight's Talon made cutting through their armor easier than carving flesh.

One soldier struck his blade at me, another went for my legs with an hasta spear, others with halberds, knives, axes, claws, and spiked shields charged to take my life. Against me, no weapon mattered. I tore through them all. I spun away from the sword, diving into a group reaching in for me. I swung my sword, the sheer pressure of the blade's enchantment sent them airborne. I flipped over a stack of bodies clashing with each other to get at me and landed behind the muddled bunch. Twilight's enchantment beckoned through my very being, and I sliced through them all, cleaving torsos from legs and limbs from bodies.

A cool tickle in the air tipped me to a shower of _Ice Spikes_ racing to pierce me through. I cleaved it in half with my sword, making two spears instead of one. The two sides speared two soldiers closing on me from behind, their cries choked by death. I raced towards the mage caster as he spewed more _Ice Spikes_ until he spent his magicka. Cutting and deflecting the spikes away I reached him and took his hand off leaving a bloody stump at the end of his limb, I spun on my heel while ducking under his other palm and swiped Twilight's Talon through his legs, severing both.

I was deaf to their cries of agony; I was blind to their fearful eyes.

I sunk and swiped across an onslaught of soldiers, earning a good deal of distance. With a sixth sense tingling down my spine, I looked up and barely negated a conjured hammer with my sword. Another fell from the sky, this one a sword. Before long, a soiree of conjured weapons hailed down from above, keeping me moving and slicing them away. I grabbed the nearest soldier and held him against an ethereal shield twice my size as it bashed us. I fell to the ground, but the shield crushed the soldier against a root wall. I clambered to my feet with a grunt.

My arms burned with fatigue, my legs ached, and the air was starting to strain into my lungs. So many soldiers left. Liemo was still among them, but those attacks weren't his. I scanned the field of enemies until a few of them parted.

The Tam'Akar agent was taller even among the Altmer. His bulk matched that of the Great Wood Orc clans of Northern Dragonteeth, and his slender eyes held a dull brass color.

I coughed. 'Andalf... the Conjuror.'

'In the flesh.' He bowed.

Andalf quickly glanced around, his brow raised. 'You did this all by yourself? Color me impressed!'

'I'll color you with your own blood.'

'Kill her. Kill her!' Liemo stepped from his brigade. His ripped into my soul, wild and feral.

Andalf paced slowly towards his younger counterpart. Every muscle in his body rippled with striations, like feathers on an eagle. He wore a variant of their inquisitor robes, but he'd stripped them at the shoulder revealing boulders for shoulders. A long black cape draped from two large moonstone buttons on his bulging trapezius muscles. Instead of the long silky white, Andalf shaved the sides of his head leaving a white strip down the center.

The other Altmer fell in ranks of six behind the massive Inquisitor, concluding that the Tam'Akar carried commanding power even above that of the Justiciars.

Andalf The Conjuror, counted among the Sons of Auriel, a Knighthood that served personally under the King of Alinor. The Thalmor inducted him after the political struggle of the Summerset Isles brought the Thalmor to power. He couldn't have been pushed any further from his King's side but served in the substantial capacity for the Thalmor regime.

I stared down the genocidal monsters standing before. I wish for nothing but to destroy them here and all. I wanted that chance, but it will never come to pass unless I could separate myself from the Silver Crescents. All of this was for my brother.

Was I an avenger, a thief, a rebel? This was the time to find out.

I held Twilight's Talon out as it began to change. The violet hue drew away from the world as if blackness became light but swallowed it at the same time shone its half-light to my enemies. In the eyes of the Altmer, I saw fear. I felt that I commanded it. Still, they stood rigid like a wall of elven moonstone. Two dozen of their numbers laid severed in all manner across the destroyed market grounds. I did that myself. Their deaths are on my hands.

There wasn't any turning back now, even if I wanted to.

Andalf raised his hand and drew it across the distance before him. A rift in reality itself tore open at Andalf's touch, opening a conjuring portal. A bare arm fell from the portal. The pale skin of the unknown creature seemed stitched and mutilated. As the gateway gave birth to the fleshy creature, almost manlike, it closed tight and dissolved. What was left was something otherworldly, gruesome. The patchy flesh of the creature overlayered other blotches where it seemed an excessive amount of skin. The creature had a head with no face. Instead of lips, the skin around its mouth drew back leaving nothing but a hole filled with razor-sharp teeth. There were no eyes to account for, just wrinkled clumps of meat. The limbs were long and skinny. Although it seemed more man than anything, it crawled on all fours, screeching, and yelping as the new air blew on it.

The dread built in me. We knew the Conjuration school to be the bridge between us and the realms of Oblivion, but to have witnessed it myself, I couldn't fathom the wrongness of it.

A _flesh atronach_ was the nastiest of its kind. Inherently evil unlike its elemental counterparts, and bastardly dangerous.

The thing skittered across the floor, closing in on me in the blink of an eye. Before I could react, its long limbs wrapped around me tightly, squeezing my already broken ribs. I cried out in pain and horror. My sword clambered to the floor as the fleshy creature slammed me down. I rolled with it, trying to pry it from my body. The atrocious stench filled my nose with fetid odors. It took all the strength left in me to hold its teeth at bae. A nasty row of grated protrusion seeking to tear the meat of me from my bones. Finally, I got a hold of it and threw it from me.

It rolled around and groveled for a moment before correcting itself. I flew to my sword, but its boney hands struck before I could reach, sending me sprawling to the ground. I choked up dust and slowly rolled to my side, fighting back the pain that was returning to me. A moment too late the _flesh atronach_ careened into me, but in a brief second, I was able to draw my Osseinium dagger. I dragged the bone-carved blade straight across the side of the monster causing it to flutter to the ground, crying and screeching the way it was conjured. Without hesitation, I droved the dagger in and out of it without stopping. I did it until it was nothing more than a bloody gathering of gore and pulp.

I stood then, my armor washed with red. They were toying with me. From Aridiil to Florentine and now these two. Over and over as if I was mere amusement, mocking my skill to be nothing but child's play not worth anything. It's time they took me seriously. I have in my possession power that could erase them from the planes of Mundus.

I took up Twilight's Talon. The black light glow was strong and unwavering, three strange runes running on the fuller, one alight. Were these runes exhibiting the power of the enchantment?

Andalf's mocking smile shone brightly in the sunlight. He held his arms out impatiently as if beckoning me on. The Tam'Akar and the Dominion soldiers grossly outnumbered me. One hundred soldiers against one adolescent girl. I stammered on, ignoring my broken ribs, ignoring the aches and pains lancing through my body. I was hurting, but my soul blazed with the hot energy of bloodlust.

Another screeching _flesh atronach_ squeezed through the slit between the breaking of two planes. The disgusting beast fell into the world with its hate-filled cries. I began to trot towards it. Slow at first until it recognized its own goal. The thing skittered at lightning fast speeds, I charged it. At the height of its speed, it launched itself in a pounce, its teeth grinding in its mouth. I hopped, sword ready. The cut was swift and fast, not even the naked eye could see it.

When I landed, Andalf wasn't smiling any longer. His conjured beast lay on the ground burning into ash from the gash across its flesh.

'Kill her,' Liemo ordered.

Andalf raised his fist, freezing the soldiers in there ranks once more. 'We can't. It's against Aridiil's orders.'

Liemo considered Andalf angrily, grinding his teeth almost to dust.

'What is that sword she's wielding?' Andalf asked.

'A Thornbush enchantment.'

'She's a dangerous one.'

'Then we can't take any chances, can we?' Liemo inquired. 'With such power, she could do a lot of damage. '

Where are the Thornbush brothers?'

'Escaped.' Liemo spat. 'She's done a respectable job at keeping me from them.

Andalf growled. I couldn't exactly tell, but it seemed he was weighing options against leaving here with my head. 'We have no choice but to obey our orders.'

Liemo shrugged.

'Don't say I didn't tell you when Aridiil is carving your ears off that oversized head of yours.' Andalf looked down at his partner incredulously.

'Kill her.' Liemo tilted his head towards me, ordering the soldiers onward with the single gesture.

The lines of soldiers marched in alignment across the market towards me, their sword still in their sheaths. They made a full stop just paces from me.

My breathing was hard but steady. The blood in my veins ran with every pump of my heart; I could hear every beat. My mouth moistened with saliva and my hands trembled. I felt a heightened moment of elation course through my body. I wanted this. I wanted it all. This battle, the blood, it gave me purpose, it cooled my hatred for all that said I wasn't what they expected. I was not the tree, but the roots; I was not the light but the shadow.

A thief, a criminal, a terrorist, whatever they wished to classify this. In the end, this is my strength.

I slipped Twilight's Talon into the ground underneath me. The blade parted the dirt with no effort. It was the call of the sword that asked me to do it. No words spoken, only enlightenment called on me like a lost instinct.

Twilight's Talon's power was terrifying. Tendrils of violet energies ripped violently through the ground, fissuring the market street. The soldiers reeled back in fear as their world became a turbulent thrashing of my sword's power. It stunned even me.

This was it, wasn't it? Power that gives desire then consumes you. It puts in you, a lust, untethered.

The road exploded with violet fires. The almighty and powerful _Ghost Flame_ was said to be an otherworldly flame with no heat. If touched, you feel the coldness of the Void but burns you to ash on contact. There was no heat, no crying, just a numb death.

I turned every last soldier into dust.

When the world about me settled down, the grey cloud blocked out the sun.

The first ash flake landed on the pommel of my sword.


	14. Gang of Winners

_Walk the slums of any city in Valenwood and you'll learn my rhetoric was rightfully extreme._

* * *

Part Two

Chapter 14: Gang of Winners

My own desperate panting filled my ears. The ash choking my airways made trying to suck air into my lungs a tedious task. With every step, my feet slapped the mossy cobblestone. The early petrichor scent carried on the northern winds; they came from the grey clouds choking the horizon to the North. A storm was racing this way. The winds crashed against my face, bracing against the sweat pouring across my brow, drying tears before they furrowed down my cheeks. I ran as fast as my broken body would allow me. My legs burned with the effort. I secured Twilight's Talon in its scabbard. As light Iron-Bark was, exhaustion made it heavy.

Arenthia's long city streets and the curling roots that twisted and snaked about the neighborhoods made it a maze to navigate towards the city's gates. My sprint faltered into a hurt limp as the adrenaline exhausted from my veins. I turned the final corner, limping into short bursts of crowds before meeting a wall of bodies. All Arenthia's population evacuated and gathered in the area. The lack of Dominion soldiers was all too apparent. I killed them all. Few Ranger Guard on the opposite side funneled the citizens through, stopping people at random and stripping them down to their bare parts. They were looking for me. I scoffed at my luck. I had no will left to fight, especially the Ranger Guard. Perhaps if they caught me—if they told my Father the crimes that I committed here, then he would acknowledge me and the power I possess. My shadow has grown far.

Did I ever hope to walk in the light? I don't know what I expected when I chose this path. The only way for me now is through the shadows.

Packed clumps of ash broke from my armor, leaving a trail of grey. I made their numbers amount to nothing against this ungodly sword. The faces of the Altmer before the violet flames consumed what they were. High Elves, clinging to a dream, to their thoughts. I ended them all. I took their lives as easily as plucking a mushroom from under a fallen branch. I burned them all to ash. Dust to the wind. The plume came down gently at first, then like a winter storm in the stories from the north, the blizzard of ash covered me from head to toe. I ran then, from the markets through the streets as fast as I could. Liemo and Andalf to struck by shock to chase me down.

I underestimated Augoth's ability. We all did. And somehow this power felt familiar as if I knew it all my life.

Whatever it as, I had to control it. Its call entices me to fight, to consume. Perhaps this is the struggle Mother endured to have such power given to her.

I approached the gates slowly, none of the Ranger Guards nor the citizens noticed me. They scrambled about like termites, worry in their eyes. The loud murmuring grew to the bass of an angry mob. In some far-off crowds, the people began to riot. It'd only be a matter of time before the Ranger Guard implements the Iron Laws on the city, effectively quieting any transgressions among the people. It was my hope that Elren, Augoth, Ceril, and Torgoth were able to escape the city that happened or else they'll all be caught and effectively executed by the Guard. With the Ranger Guard's checkpoints, going straight through the gates wouldn't be a smart idea. My best chance was the many smuggling routes dotted around the city's stone wall.

The wall stretched around the city's edge, covering the slums in a perpetual shadow even when the Sun reaches midday. Here the trees and stone shared the same rot and blackness, unable to absorb the sunlight's rich life. Evacuation warning didn't the poorest of the population that lived here. Even the urchins didn't dare to move and play like urchins are inclined to do. Ataxia and Black-Heart Blight took their youthful energy from them over the years of their development. Such gross negligence of people is the product of the corruption that runs through our government. Many of these people are victims of losing everything to high taxes implemented on them by the Treethanes that take advantage of the Aldmeri Dominion's lax rule of law for the rich and powerful. In cities and villages such as Arenthia, the effects of the High Elve's lofty living was far more prevalent.

I moved slowly through muck covered roads. There, only blocks of run down snugpods layering the rotten trees that grew. Because of the lack of sun reaching these parts, giant fungi cultivated rampant. S _hadow mold_ spores floated in thick clouds, poisoning the air.

Through the sickness and poverty, it quickly came to my realization that even me being here was a bad idea. With the slums comes the curs and dregs of society, the type of thieves and murderers you don't want to exist.

Rapacious eyes watched me from the shadowy corners. I was young, female, and I looked like I had coin, despite my roguish armor. My black leathers, tightly woven cloak, and the weapons I carried would make a killing with a good fence. I kept moving, keeping tabs on every quick movement on my peripherals.

'You look hurt,' an old craggily voice rasped, followed by an episode of phlegm-filled coughs.

I slipped a knife through my sleeve and into my palm.

'Don't you need help? That sword and bow looked awfully heavy.' Another voice plagued by the same cough.

A small Ohmes Khajiit stepped in my way. His expression was hungry in a way I never saw before. One of his eyes looked in the opposite direction of the other. All along his light fur, his skin seemed scaly which were telltale signs of D _ermorot_. Another one, this time a Bosmer, passed too close to me, earning himself an elbow to the nose. He curdled away in haste, crying for blood. The rest of them started to appear, all sniveling and coughing. If I wasn't careful, I could contract their _Tunnel Cough_.

'I'm looking for a quick way out,' I called to them. 'I'm offering twenty gold coins to those who help me escape over the way.'

'Why dident yuh just evacuate for free, hmm?' Another asked. 'Yah radder wander down here? Get yuhself killed good for all dat coin yuh carryin'.'

'If you wish to try and rob me, you're the only ones who will end up dead,' I told them. 'I have the coin on me now, I promise to make it worth your while if you help me.' Announcing that I had coin on me was bold, but I was desperate.

A Bosmer walked out of the shadows then. This one looked as if he didn't belong down here. His auburn hair was slicked back and held in place, and besides his slender, he didn't look diseased. 'You're in a bind then. You don't get to demand. This situation is not in your favor.'

I looked him in his eyes. They were a pale green, the color of rosemary. I prodded my ribs, the pain still prevalent as ever. I winced, probably showing them more weakness than I should have.

'Do you wish to try me?'

The Bosmer considered me for a few moments. His eyes drifted over my weak and obviously hurt body. They fell on Twilight's Talon. Finally, he smiled. 'I see. I will allow you to pass unharmed.'

I followed the Bosmer and his cohorts through the ramshackle structures of the slums. Grime slicked the streets, trees, and the roots that overlapped the wall from the forest on the opposite side.

'I _will_ make sure to pay you,' I told him as the others closed in on me.

He chuckled. 'Will you now, stranger? I can kill you where you stand and make enough coin from your armor to buy some potions and food from the market. But you destroyed that didn't you?'

'I—' I gripped the knife tighter. 'So, you know why I'm running?'

'I have eyes all over this city; you caused quite a stir downtown. Made an entire mess. I will be out of work for quite some time.'

'Are you working for Monsotar as well?'

'Nope. I am Sultel Worm-Flower, and these are my Worms. We are...an independent gang, I suppose.'

'How quaint.'

Sultel was a skeleton of an elf. The days living in these shadows, living with no food and among the disease would do that. But there was an obvious difference between him and the ragtag group that followed him. While they seemed as if they never stepped foot in the civilized, Sultel looks as if he's been there and didn't like what he saw.

We moved slowly to accommodate my injuries, my limp increased, the pain lancing. My alertness dulled, but I kept my eyes peeled behind and at all corners, thinking that the Tam'Akar would show up at any moment. Coming here was a chance I was willing to take—I didn't think I would find anyone to help me travel through the walls. Sultel's gang of degenerates stared at me with their diseased faces and broken bodies that living in these parts would reward or curse you.

The slum neighborhoods under the wall were in bad shape. Death was everywhere; sickly people contracting deadly disease and crime reigned here. Law had no standing, not even the Ranger Guard would come here to enforce it. I hated seeing it for what it was. These people suffered, and they needed help. Milkar's help.

A tree stretched up high above the walls, nearly two hundred meters above and a hundred meters wide. The base of the tree formed a wedge between the structure of the wall, leaving small gaps in the wall and through the looping of the roots. This was where smugglers brought their contraband into the city for selling, it's also probably where Torgoth shipped his weapons all over Valenwood without detection by the Thalmor or the Ranger Guard.

We pulled up alongside the tree's base, where the roots caved in on themselves, leaving a long depression entrance into the tree itself.

'You aren't going to kill me in there, are you?' I asked Sultel.

The wiry Bosmer laughed into a coughing fit. 'No. No. Not at all. Even if I tried, you could certainly kill us all, couldn't you?'

The answer was probably not in the shape the battle with two Tam'Akar members left me in, but he didn't have to know that. 'Why did you help me?'

'Because I know who you are. What you represent.'

What do you mean by that—'

In the distance, the city began to rumble and groan. 'They're here,' gasped Sultel. Amusement fluttered in his downcast eyes. 'You must go now. No payment required.' That earned protests from his Worms.

'Thank you.' I turned towards the dark tunnel.

'All that I ask of you is that you make sure Milkar Lockharte doesn't forget about people like me.'

I turned back towards Sultel. High above, a flurry of Andalf's conjured army of blades began to rain down on the city. They were desperately looking for me.

'You know my brother?'

'I know _of_ him,' Sultel said, tapping his head. 'Anybody that live the life we live does. He brings us hope.'

'You may hold some merit in helping me. But if I wasn't who you thought I was, you wouldn't have saved me. Your men threatened to rid my corpse of my belongings, and I don't think they would have used it to benefit themselves.'

Sultel shook his head. 'We all have our issues here. Addiction, drinking, disease, poverty...We've had to do whatever it took to survive, but we're ready to step beyond these shadows in a world that won't chew us up and spit us out.'

'Well, Sultel Worm-Flower. You've made the voice of your people heard.' I reached slowly into a back pocket to find the pouch of coins I'd stashed away and threw it onto the ground at Sultel's feet. It wasn't much, but it would go a long way for their gang—twenty golden Septims, fifty silver drakes, and hundreds of coppers. 'Not all of the market is destroyed. Find yourself some curing potions, food, hire some healers to come here.' —another large explosion in the background— 'Show us that you can help the people around you with your talents, then I promise we will leave a mountain of gold at your feet.'

With those last words, I turned into the darkness of the tunnel.

* * *

The tunnel deposited me into the deciduous forest of the Cyrodiilic Woods. My limp made walking an inch by inch movement. My body was going to give out in the middle of nowhere, and I will become food for the buzzards. I prayed to any gods that would hear for the safety of my friends. I trusted Elren to lead the others back to Milkar, but I couldn't be sure. I needed to see his face one last time before Ark'ay ushered me into the afterlife.

The day's memories came down with the rain, soaking my mind and body with a hate-filled drench. I looked up towards the forest's canopy, thunder and lightning unleashing their rage upon the tops of the trees. This isn't what Milkar wanted. No deaths. But how could he do it without it? The Tam'Akar seek to kill us, to murder us for their new empire. And the Thieves of the Wood soaks Valenwood with unhinged corruption, creating people like Sultel and his Worms. The Silver Crescents run the risk of being deemed in the same category as both of our enemies. I don't want that. I want the people to see Milkar and his dream as their savior, not another institution of degeneracy.

'What must I do?'

What should I do?

Elren, Esmond, Aranwen, and Milkar are not like me. They don't see what we must truly do in order to see this through. What blood must be shed and who to bleed it from.

Mother saw it necessary to seek powers not of this world—to harness this evil known as the _Ghost Flame_ to free her province from destruction. Is that a path I must take as well?

Before I knew it, I'd dragged myself onto a bed.

'Burdens are what drags us into the mud.' Elren's slow voice slipped soothingly into my ears. I opened my eyes to see his deep brown eyes looking into mine. 'No matter how strong you become, no one person can carry such weight. Which is why I have chosen to stick by your side.'

'Elren,' I cried.

He placed a hand on me and felt the slow rise of my chest. The quick beat of my heart thrummed against his touch. 'Where are the others?'

'Safe,' he said. 'They're safe.'

'You came back for me? Why?'

'Because I need you.'

'Me?' I asked.

'You're strength. Milkar may be a mastermind, Aranwen is his lancer, Esmond his master, but you... You're the one who's going to win this for all of us.'

Rainwater slipped down his face, over his brow, eyes, and lips. I didn't have friends growing up, and I didn't think I needed them. But now, I didn't want to give up Elren. It was _his_ strength that helped me move on, that keeps me going. The rain dripping slowly and tantalizingly from his face. He cleaned away the stray hairs from my eyes, brushed a finger from my cheek, and smiled.

Elren cast aside my bow, arrows, and sword. My body felt feather light as he shed my weapons. He lifted my head up slowly and tilted me towards him. I couldn't move, but I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, the smell of his sweet scent, and the magic in his slow caring fingers. My wounds weren't serious, but I'd been fighting with them for the best part of the day. I gave it all against Liemo and the Tam'Akar's forces. There was only so much a small girl like me could handle, even if it was more than what most could.

'Let's get you someplace safe.'

Elren hoisted me over his back. It was only then I felt that I could finally let go.

* * *

'This is most depressing, Lady Ceril. We only just grew our sepulcher. Are you telling us we must grow another?'

'We'll grow a hundred more if it means we can protect the tribe for another moon cycle, then yes, yes we must.'

'I don't understand. You said Monsotar won't harm us as long as we shared our wealth, what has changed?'

'A lot and nothing at all, Shaman Yneg. Our contributions to the Thieves of the Woods have been dwindling, and it's only a matter of time before Monsotar sold us to the High Elves for something more profitable.'

A hushed but stern voice resounded in my ear. 'This about-face of your fear of Monsotar is most intriguing. And it has everything to do with these outsiders you've brought here! You think because your clan adds most to the contributions, you know how to handle these apostates? You're going to doom us all.'

'Listen, Shaman Saenel. If it weren't for them, the Tam'Akar could have killed me. And the boy is _Terces Srekanb_. Red Moss.'

That earned a few gasps from the group around me. I tried hard to open my eyes but to no avail.

'The Red Moss perished because of the deals made by Monsotar. A trade with the Thalmor Inquisitors.'

'Y'ffre's forgiveness,' one whispered. 'Give us the strength of the Oaks.'

'Which is why,' Ceril continued, 'I needed to break away from there and find something different.'

'What could possibly save us now? You took only a possibility and made it into a surety. They'll come, by the great forests, they'll come now.' This voice was Shaman Saenel.

'They might,' Ceril said. 'But I have faith in her. You should too.'

'And who is she?' This time it was Shaman Yneg speaking. 'You brought these four here, but none of us know who they are.'

'This is Leila Lockharte, and these two are Torgoth and Augoth Thornbush,' Ceril explained. 'Elren is a survivor of the Red Moss.'

The group grumbled over our names. Silent whispers barely audible even for my ears bounced around the room.

'This is the very reason the Red Moss met their doom. They lost their way many years ago when they decided to interfere with the apostates. They've used their gifts to hold the ciphers of backsliders, copulated with races not of their own, and allowed their people to grow soft. The gods have cursed them!'

'Shaman Saenel, you hold your tongue. There is no time for your briar words. That is not our way, and it would be hypocritical of us to think the Red Moss wrought their own demise. We have all done what we had to do to ensure the safety of our people. For two years the Long-Trees have kept this tribe together and safe against the outside forces that threatened us. Lady Ceril has worked for this,' she waved her hand, 'organization for that duration, and we have been able to live on peacefully. We have to trust her on this.'

' _She_ is not Chieftain, her father is!' Saenel exclaimed. 'She's going to doom us to the same fate as all the others.'

'You are dismissed!' Yneg exclaimed.

'You can't dismiss me, Yneg!'

The room fell into disarray. Arguments between these shamans and Ceril went on like this for another hour and still carried on. They were scared with good reason. Ceril was riding on a stranger's promise, my promise. I couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse for their situation. I had to trust in my own abilities. I can't see Ceril become another Elren; I refuse to allow the Tam'Akar and Monsotar to destroy Valenwood.

It took some time, but with effort, I was able to move again. I awoke amidst the arguing and misconceived talking points. My wounds were bandaged and stitched, my ribs pained me no more. The numbing in my limbs were from an array of potions that lay at the foot of the grasscot of which I laid. Torgoth and Augoth laid upon their own grasscot in different corners of the room. Elren was nowhere in sight.

I surveyed my surroundings. We were in some sort of snugpod, a chamber within somewhere else, possibly a Graht-Oak. In the center, Ceril and three other ancient looking Bosmer sat cross-legged around a sparkling pit of coals. Their voices ranging too loud in my ears. I swung my feet off the grasscot and set them on the warm, moist wood. Similar to the feel of Shimmer Root. This must be the home of Ceril's tribe, the Raw Tooth.

'I can tell you one thing that's true among all the nonsense you all are spewing. Sooner or later Monsotar will abandon you for a better deal. Just as he did with the Red Moss. I can't relate to the dread you feel, but what I can do is give you a better alternative to the Thieves of the Wood.' I stood and made my way over to where they sat. 'My brother is Milkar Lockharte. If his name holds any weight to you all, then I beg you to trust in him. Trust in us.'

The three priests stared at me with contempt—some more than others. But my words resonated true with them. They were the Shamans of the Raw Tooth. Tree minders that overlook their tribe's spiritual leaders. Just as the Silvenar overlooks all the Bosmer's feelings.

Shaman Yneg was a Bosmer woman many centuries old, the others looked to be the same age. Shaman Saenel was a snarling old Bosmer man, his eyes sunken deep in their sockets surrounded by wrinkles. The quiet priest, smaller than the first two had a perpetual sadness to him. Ceril was hundreds of years younger than all of them, yet I felt she had just as much wisdom. I looked at the girl in a new light. I hadn't realized she held such pull among her tribe.

'Why should we trust in you if we couldn't trust Ambassador Faeden to help his own people?' Shaman Saenel asked. 'For decades, the purges on our kind have facilitated fear and emotions of abandonment. Our calls for help have been unanswered by the politicians that swore to protect us.'

'I am not my father,' I said. 'And my brothers and I aren't politicians.'

'What makes you any different from Monsotar?'

'Because the people that wish to do you harm, the Tam'Akar, and the Woods, are my enemies. And I am the only one that can beat them.'


	15. Legacy Of A People

_**The Purges in Valenwood are canon to the actual Elder Scroll timeline**_.

* * *

 _You can accept reality or persist in your illusions until reality accepts you._

* * *

Chapter 15: Legacy Of A People

The Raw Tooth's shamans watched me with some hidden displeasure. Each of them judged me with their own prejudices. I understood them. For however long the Thalmor have been in power, the reality of genocide has been on their doorstep. No help from my father or any of Valenwood's idle leaders left them desperate enough to seek refuge with Monsotar. But his protection stretches towards them so as long as they have something to offer. Only coin can entice protection for them or their doom. Or for whenever he felt fit. They would have to live in constant fear that one day someone would buy their tribe and put them out for slaughter. But Milkar's quest isn't like Monsotar's.

'Leila.' Ceril stood. 'I hope your promise is worth it.'

'I told you to trust me, Ceril.' I said.

She shook her head slowly. 'It's difficult to do that with so much pressure.'

'I'm here. And I will do just as I said.' I scanned the pod. 'Where are my weapons and armor?' I felt naked without my gear, unlike myself.

Ceril turned to the shamans and dismissed them. They stood, and Ceril bowed them the proper respects before their departure.

'I kept them safe,' Ceril said, leading me towards a corner. On an _oakbench_ , my black leather platebody, pauldrons, vambraces, and my hip and shin guards lay folded and polished.

I reached for them, but Ceril stayed my hand. 'You should relax for a bit, Leila. Your body needs to recover.'

'How long was I out?'

'It's been four days.'

'Four days?' I inhaled sharply. 'Well, now that's more than enough rest. My brother must be—'

'Elren has taken care of that. He says they'll meet you at the edge of the grove.' She straightened my armor again.

I turned towards where the two Thornbush brothers lay. 'How are they?'

'Not well. Both in a coma, both losing,' Ceril explained. 'We're expending a lot of resources to keep Augoth's hands from souring. Torgoth took a hard blow to the head. Our healer believes his head may soon need draining from the fluids that have built in his skull. He won't make it.' Ceril stared at the ground.

I sighed and slid to the ground. 'Gods-damn it,' I cursed. 'How long ago did Elren send word?'

'Two days ago,' she said. 'Our ravens are some of the fastest. They should have received it by now.'

'That's good.'

I hadn't noticed my nakedness before. I had nothing on, my breasts and privates airing out. Ceril took no notice to it—the brothers were in the same predicament. I wondered why I felt so natural around these parts whereas I would have felt embarrassment almost immediately if we were anywhere else. Perhaps, in the Greenpact Bosmer, the natural form of us mortal was nothing to feel ashamed of. In Altmer, and even human cultures nudity has become taboo.

Ceril chuckled something cheeky. 'Your fine to walk around. With ample proportions like yours, my people will admire you.'

I glared at her, earning a grimace.

'Fine. I'll fetch you something to wear.'

After dressing in some Senche-lion cloth, I followed Ceril through the tribe's home. The Raw Tooth found their home in the land of Reaper's March. Their settlement lay in the middle of the center family of Graht-Oaks known as the Seven Clover Grove only a day's travel from Arenthia. Fourteen Graht-Oaks, none of which reached anything grand, closed in on each other. Ceril's people lived in the avenues of the gnarled Graht-Oak roots spiraling and swimming through the ground. High above, Bosmer swung gracefully from bough to bough, using bow and arrow to lead nets over the trees' hot spots, like a giant spiderweb trapping insects on their sticky lines. Only they weren't capturing any passing flies, they were setting up for the _Jungle hawk_ migration. In the long avenues that separated the Graht-Oaks, the Bosmer scurried like ants, going to and from their objective. They carried baskets of food, furs, assortments of alchemical properties and almost any goods you can think of. It was almost city like in their fluidity. Armored hunters trotted on the outskirts of their little village as they protected and provided for the people of Raw Tooth. The tribe could easily reach up to three hundred Bosmer.

Prosperity displayed in plain view. Like the Bosmer used to be in the centuries past. Untouched by an Empire and threatened by Dominion. I needed to protect it. The drive burned in my heart.

The Greenpact Bosmer were simple yet complicated. Sometime over the years, the Bosmer that kept their ways under the Greenpact simply didn't assimilate with the new. The royal tribes that were once the social hierarchy of Valenwood were the bedrock. Now they're seen as something different entirely. Although those not of the royal tribes practice the Greenpact, they've severed their ties with old social traditions like living with clans and tribes.

'I thought we were going to die there in Arenthia. To be honest, I didn't think you would have been enough to take on the Tam'Akar by yourself.' Ceril and I walked through the trodden path.

'Wouldn't be my first time,' I said. We passed a gaggle of rambunctious Bosmer women carrying cured hides in wide basins. They smiled and giggled switching their hips to the high drums echoing through the tribe.

'You said with confidence that you'd protect my tribe,' Ceril reminded me. 'I took a leap of faith when I brought you back to Torgoth and then here.' She gestured to the scrambling of her people.

Her tribe was a productive one. Across the forest floor, scouring over the Graht-Oaks that housed them, and swinging from tree to tree over large expanses of room between each tree, her people were at work, doing their deeds and enjoying it. A swarm of children flowed passed us, not one of them wearing a single article of clothing. It surprised me how comfortable they looked. Unchecked by the civilized world. But saying civilized didn't feel right, this was a society I'd prefer to the cities and the bureaucratic world I lived in.

'Did I prove myself?' I asked as a dozen Bosmer men led a bull with vine rope through our path. 'When I think back to Arenthia, I could only see failure.'

'If you failed, I would have killed you myself.'

'Ah. The Tam'Akar are too powerful for me.' I thought back to the struggle. Liemo gave me pause at first, then after Twilight's Talon was born, I earned the upper hand. But it was short-lived. With the appearance of Andalf, I nearly lost my life.

'Wrong,' Ceril said firmly. 'I know what happened after Elren and I escaped, you...you killed so many of them and escaped with your life.'

'Even if I did, Monsotar is a different type of threat.' I raised an eyebrow. 'Even the Tam'Akar are wary of the leader of the Thieves of the Wood.'

Ceril chewed the inside of her cheek. 'But you said you would deal with him.'

'I will.'

For the first time, I honestly believed that I could. But I couldn't shake the sliver of fear that I felt striking through my spine when I thought of his power. I remember the wall of flame the raced through the Hall of Heroes. Many people died that night. In the blink of a single eye, Monsotar was able to reap such a horror. Such an attack could only take less than one percent of Augoth's best.

'It's not like we I have a choice anymore, anyway.' Ceril frowned. 'Torgoth is dying. And I don't think he is going to recover.'

The Raw Tooth tribe held energy that was equally as addicting as it was peaceful. I've only crossed royal tribes in the wilds of Valenwood from afar when traveling with Tutor Rollyn in the years prior. Their life looked hard, but the people always had a peace about them that made me envious. Still today, with the threat of the Thalmor or a criminal organization coming to kill them all, they still smiled, worked, and played. I admired them. Every one of them, a strong and brave soul. Perhaps the gods can still favor these people. Perhaps their plight was a machination to give birth to someone like my brother.

We traveled all about the grove. Gatherers plucked fungi; juicy, fat grubs from fallen branches; and used hallowed bones to lead _mudfish_ , snakes, and all manner of aquatic worms into excavated ditches from mud pools that formed under strong waterfalls that fell from the canopy above after a long rainy day.

It was an ingenious way to gather food without much effort. The gatherers would dig a hole in the ground not too far from the mud pool, then they shallowed a lead from the mud pool towards the ditch, placing the hallowed bone in the lead. Water would half submerge the lead, enough only for any critter to swim through it and fall into the ditch on the other side. I expected nothing less of the hunting clans of the Raw Tooth.

What captured my attention the most was the sheer size of their hunters. They were sheer bulk or slender cut but still chiseled. The bigger ones were the wranglers of the hunting parties. They used their size to wrestle down oxen three times their size, leaving the slender ones to race after fast-moving prey with bows and arrows. Why do these people need protection? It didn't make much sense, the lot of them were capable. That included Ceril. She was easily my match when we fought in Arenthia.

'Whoa hohoho! What do we have here?' A heavy voice boomed from behind us.

I turned before Ceril did, staring down a wall of muscle followed by two of the slenderer hunters.

'Now is not the time, Sickle.' Ceril glared at the brute.

'Of course, it is!' I heard you botched the deal with the Woods. How disappointing of a Long-Tree.' Sickle was two heads taller than Ceril and me. The other two was only one head taller.

'And then you brought home some injured strangers as well?' One of the slenderer Bosmer hunters said with a skittish voice.

Ceril shrugged. 'That's right. And I stand by my choice.'

'Is she one of them?' Sickle looked at me incredulously. 'She's is beautiful! How do you do, milady?' He was obviously not the type suited to the speech of aristocracy.

I raised an eyebrow.

That earned a long deep sigh from Ceril. 'Fine. Leila, this is Sickle Ear—or at least that's what he calls himself—' she rolled her eyes, 'Silo Stickfinger and Tentalen Waterflower.' She stepped aside. 'Guys, this is Leila.' She didn't bother with my surname.

'Nice to meet all of you,' I said, curtsying a low nod.

'H—hello,' Tentalen said shyly.

'If it weren't for Leila and her friends, I would have died in Arenthia.'

Sickle boomed full of laughter. 'That's because you're weak! But Leila here looks pretty tough.'

'Speak for yourself,' I flirted.

Written on Sickle's bulk was the inked lines of their tribe. At first glance, they were hard to decipher. The tribal lines stretched over his arms and traced to his back, forming intricate messages that only the Greenpact Bosmer can fully understand. He wore a light fur vest of a _lilyfox_ and a scaled leather skirt studded with steel. The other two wore furs of similar décor, obviously representing one of the hunting clans of the Raw Tooth tribe. Silo had broad shoulders, but skinny, long arms. A shock of dark hair carpeted his head, suggesting that he cut it with a rough edge. Tentalen was a shy one. He kept his eyes low almost at all times and didn't say a word. It kind of reminded me of Elren, but Elren has bolstering with confidence as Tentalen seemed too timid. The shy wood elf was shorter than the other two but still taller than Ceril and me. All in all, the trio of Raw Tooth hunters seemed like an alright bunch.

'So, Ceril. What's gotchu so busy?'

'If you must know, I was taking Leila on a small tour then we're going to meet the Chieftain when he returned,' Ceril explained.

'He ain't return yet,' Sickle pointed out.

'Shortly.' She squinted.

'In that case, we're gonna accompany you,' Silo said. 'Us hunters are also the tribe's guard, you know. The best of the best.'

I laughed. 'I bet you are. I'd like for you to accompany us. If that's okay with princess here?' I turned to Ceril.

'Whatever.'

'Hahaha! I like you, Leila. Beauty, wit, and you look like you could throw a punch.' Sickle Ear crossed his arms over his chest. 'What'd you say your surname was?'

'If I told you, I'd have to kill you,' I told the tall Bosmer. He looked amused, but I was leaning on the side of serious.

Ceril continued her tour, rolling over the history of her tribe and their ancient and present hardships. Despite their culture of the hunt, they were a peaceful lot. Working in harmony to make the best of their situation presented to them. I wish I'd been that happy, but the Divines aren't always so generous. Despite the luxurious life I could live, I hated it. And despite the hard life these Greenpact Bosmer live, they love it. This was the reason I had to see that Milkar and the Silver Crescents are successful in driving out Monsotar and the corruption he's wrought.

Monsotar saw these people as a resource that he can expend; Milkar sees them as family, to love and protect.

I wondered how the Red Moss would have treated me. They were seemingly very close to Augoth and my mother. It's incredible to believe that such hearty Bosmer were so incredibly hospitable towards me. Some of the older Bosmer may be a little skeptical, but the Bosmer have always been a welcoming bunch. It is their way. These Greenpact Bosmer still followed the Meat Mandate bestowed on them by the forest god, Y'ffre, which said that no one should harm the forest and no animal should go to waste. A fight that ended in death would soon become a cannibalistic feast because of this mandate. But nowadays, outside of these the royal tribes and of the lesser tribes, the Meat Mandate was no longer followed.

We prattled on for the next few hours going on about the good times, the bad times, and the best times. There is a sense of wholesomeness achieved only through a chrysalis of experiences. We often delight in the beauty of the butterfly it has gone through to achieve that beauty.

The royal hunting clans of Valenwood were all once separate. At their peak, there were thirteen clans with the Long-Tree being the strongest and largest of them all. After the Camoran throne became the first empire to form on Tamriel, the clans of Valenwood began to consolidate, creating the royal tribes. Thanks to King Eplear, all Bosmer became united, becoming one of the greatest military feats in the history of Tamriel. Each royal clan had something unique to offer the province.

This was what I needed to protect. These people and their rich history, their cultural lives, all they wanted was to live in peace. But they can't. Because of the Altmer and the Thieves of the Wood that threaten their way of life.

'Will your people accept my brother's help?' I asked Ceril. 'Now that you've broken from Monsotar, he will come after you, putting you far more danger. Something drastic has to be said.'

Ceril sighed, and her shoulder drooped. 'I don't know honestly. It's my hope the Chieftain will understand.'

'The Chieftain—he's your father?'

She nodded. 'Him and the hunters been out on a hunt for the past few weeks, but the last I heard, they're returning today.'

'Today?'

'You better sell yourself worthy, Leila Lockharte.'

'You're in luck, outsider.' Sickle said. 'After every hunt, Chieftain Gleril is always in a good mood. I'm sure he'll listen to you.'

Silo perked up at that. 'Are you _sure_ about that. Didn't he—'

Sickle Ear punched Silo in the belly, earning an "oof" from the slender Bosmer. 'Shut up, you idiot!'

'Why'd you gon' an' do that?' Silo cried, nearly keeling over.

'You ain't making the girl comfortable. She's got very important business and needs the confidence she can get, dontchu know how to read the situation?'

'Dontchu know how to pull ya punches?'

'Will both you idiots shut up?' Ceril exclaimed. 'Now's not the time to be joking around. Our home is in danger, our people...'

I placed my hand on Ceril's shoulder. 'It's okay, Ceril.'

'We have to get this right. I have to be right. _You_ must be right.'

I nodded to reassure the girl. 'I am.'

In the distant, on the other side of the towering Graht-Oaks, three horns echoed through the forest. I glanced at the four Raw Tooth tribesmen, each holding an expression of finality to their faces. An explosion of birds squawked across the canopy high above, the energy among the people transformed into a scurried swarm. The slow-moving ant colony became frantic as if someone dropped a pebble in the middle of their sequences. The tribeswomen were the happiest among the crowds of Bosmer. They rushed back to their snugpods with their baskets and crates only to emerge with little to no clothing. I felt the redness creep up my neck and wash over my face as the lined up one by one.

'What's happening?' I asked my new friends.

'The hunting party has returned,' Ceril answered. 'The women of the Raw Tooth have this tradition of dressing with little coverings as their husbands, sons, and fathers return from the weeks-long hunt around Valenwood.'

'Interesting.' After the women, everyone else began to gather in what seemed to be a large school circle.

Ceril's lips stretched into a short smile. 'Not what you're used to, I suppose?' She unhooked her robes made of feathers and very soft hare skin.

'I can get used to it,' I told her.

Under her robes, she wore more of the hare skin. A short skirt just barely coming down her thigh, a simple brassiere to shape her breast. That earned the eyes of Sickle Ear and his hunters. Ceril was a lean girl with muscle in the right places. Her girlish face, silky hair, and rounded eyes made her a prime choice for her male peers, but her arms and legs held her strength. She walked straight on a stiff spine that gave her impeccable posture, leaving other parts ample and savory for the eyes. She didn't mind the eyes of Sickle Ear and the others, and I felt hot flashes across my neck and cheeks. Ceril was beautiful. I thought she was. But I never thought of myself as such.

Many people just say favor my mother. And to me, my mother was gorgeous despite how I felt about a dead woman. My father too, was incredibly handsome, earning stares and calls from various Bosmer women, even women from other races did not hold their tongue.

'We didn't come into this world fully clothed, Leila.' Ceril smirked.

I cleared my throat. Suddenly, it felt dry as a bone. 'I know that.'

'We Greenpact Bosmer love the naturalness of the elven body, clothes are purely for protection from the elements and warmth. At least here in the tribes, nudity is common.' She gestured for me to strip the simple garb she'd put on me during my unconsciousness.

I shook my head. 'Thank you, but no thank you. It sounds like it would be an enjoyable time, but I prefer _not_ to be eye-goggled.' I squinted towards the three hunters. Sickle spun around pretending not to see anything, Silo and Tentalen didn't even blink as their eyes watched Ceril.

'Suit yourself,' Ceril said, shrugging her bare shoulders. Her breasts bounced with the motion, so I turned away.

The line of Raw Tooth tribesmen consisted of almost every member of the tribe. From old to young, they lined up as if there was a parade marching through the forest floor between their Graht-Oaks. Long beams of sunlight escaped the green roof illuminated the hunting party's arrival. They all stood elated, but I felt outside myself. I knew what I had to bring to these people, and it wasn't news that they would take lightly. There was no guarantee Monsotar was going to come for them, but now there is since I broke their agreement with the leader of the Thieves of the Wood. I had to tell their leader to follow me because following Monsotar keeps them at risk. But what if following me, my brother, and the rest of the Crescents is a greater risk to them? What if I can't protect them?

A rumble broke my train of thought. The ground trembled underneath my feet, quivering my legs as if I was shivering. No one seemed to react. It wasn't until four or five of the same short quakes did I take a step back. Ceril sat perched up a ridge, I stood next to her with Sickle, Silo, and Tentalen. The boys disregard it entirely. I tried to scan the massive trees everyone else's eyes were trained on but saw nothing. Not before long, the rumbling was too obvious for anyone to miss. I looked towards Ceril for answers.

'Have some patience, Leila.'

'What the Void?'

Three massive heads appeared from behind the young Graht-Oaks. Each colossal creature grew tusks as thick and long as the tree branches they navigated around. Kinky brown hairs curled up from their leather-like skin like tiny metallic wires around the old abandoned human forts found on the borders. When its trunk swung through the air, gusts of wind followed it, making the air above us whistle like a wind storm. Amazingly enough, it didn't seem like their size was any problem for the forest was big enough to squeeze them through without an issue. Their leathery trunks fell all the to the ground sniffing their way to where the Raw Tooth awaited. The mammoths' lazy eyes searched the forest floor, hiding intelligence with their judging stares. Their size rivaled the sapling trees around them, which amounted to mountainous. Never underestimate a sapling Graht-Oak's size, but these creatures equaled even them. The tallest of Bosmer wouldn't be able to reach its first knuckle. Not even a normal sized mammoth would reach its elbow joint. Each step shook the foundations of the forest, shaking free the leaves from a hundred feet above them.

'I can hear your brow furrowing from here,' Ceril said, standing to her feet.

'Those are not ordinary mammoths, are they?' I asked her.

She took the pins from her hair and let the locks fall to the small of her back. 'They're called the Mothers of the Gilden. My people protect them, and in return, they protect us. These three are the last of their kind. Before the Bosmer, before any elf placed their foot on the shores of Tamriel, creatures like this existed here on Valenwood. They thrived peacefully in the forests without anything to disturb them. The first of the mer, the Aldmer before they adapted to become the Bosmer, hunted most of Valenwood's exotic creatures to near extinction.'

'Your tribe hunts as a way of life. What makes you any different?'

'We're different because we have created an equilibrium with the animals of Valenwood. We hunt when there is an abundance when overpopulation becomes more of a threat than overhunting.'

'It surprises me that with the strength your tribe possesses, you needed to align yourself with Monsotar.' She stared at me hard. Sickle and the others slowly shook their head.

'There were five Mothers of the Gilden,' Ceril explained. 'Six if you want to count the male.'

My brow went up at that. 'What happened to the others?'

'The Tam'Akar fell the two, leaving the three Mothers you see here.'

'And the male?'

'Monsotar brought that one down singlehandedly.'

Silence stretched between us. Roars from the tribe reached their pinnacle, and the stomping behemoths grew closer. Bone and leather saddles straddled the creatures, each carrying a more than three dozen hunters on each their backs. Leathery vine-like ropes led from their long, ivory tusks connected to the saddles and stretched down to massive carts filled with dead carcasses. Each Mother of the Gilden pulled their own cart. All manner of animal piled almost as high as the mammoth's shoulders. There were possibly thousands of dead meats ready for field dressing and carried to the cities and towns of Valenwood.

The hunters riding the mammoths looked down at their tribesmen, calling to them. The women cooed and shouted; the men whistled and howled. It was a time for celebration. My eyes fell on one Bosmer in particular. I knew it was Chieftain Gleril just by his appearance. He was tall, musclebound, his shoulders and biceps were like head-sized rocks, a chiseled belly like flagstones staggered on a road. Stark green eyes shaded in a prominent brow, crawling down to high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He wore the headdress of a Satyr—two horns curling from the back of his forehead at the side of his head, a shoal made of colorful, long feathers draped around his shoulders. A simple bone spear in his hand.

There were three generals at his side. One who the skin of a wolf and the other two wore headdresses favoring the Great White Stag—a depiction of Hircine, the king of the hunt.

The hunters threw down vines to climb down from their mammoths. They met their tribesmen with open arms. All congratulating them on a good hunt.

The massive piles were impressive indeed. In just a few short weeks, they were able to hunt enough to supply a respectable number of people. After the Greenpact, there was never any shortage of wildlife to hunt in the forests of Valenwood, respecting the forest also included knowing when to hunt and what to hunt. The tribal Bosmer have found the ultimate balance. In only a few months, the population of animals hunted by the Raw Tooth would have replenished and then some.

Chieftain Gleril was the last to depart the Mother of the Gilden, bombarded by a slew of women as soon as his foot touched the moss-covered ground, but his eyes fell on one alone. The Chieftain's strong, carved face curled when he smiled in that Bosmer woman's direction.

'See? Always in a good mood.' Sickle chuckled.

'I'd be in a good mood too if I had a woman that pretty,' Silo pointed out. 'Ban Daar's shade, if any woman looked my way.'

Ceril turned to me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I could tell she was nervous, I was too, but I wasn't going to let that get in the way of my promise. My brother's promise. There was so much to do, and this was only the beginning. 'Are you ready?' She asked.

'Yes.' I nodded.

She returned my nod and bounded down the ridge towards her father. As we approached, I noticed sheer beauty emanating from Ceril's mother. The first lady of the Chieftain was what every carnal thinking woman would dream of being, with a face that was incredibly symmetric, eyes that could woo a Dremora, and the bow curve of her pink lips screamed: "have sex with me." Everything else was ample in size, from head to her perfect toes.

The First Lady glided towards her daughter and embraced her closely. Ceril buried her head in her mother's chest, a beautiful spectacle. Gleril broke from the shock of seeing his daughter again and turned his eyes towards me.

His voice was low and deep, like a guttural punch from the belly. 'What are you doing here?' He asked incredulously.


	16. A Plight And A Promise

**Read and review!**

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 **The Bosmer clans that still adhere to the Greenpact are slowly being purged by Thalmor inquisitions deep in the forests, forcing them to find protection from other sinister groups.**

* * *

 _It took a single event to turn all my promises to lies._

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Chapter 16: A Plight and A Promise

'We don't need your help.'

'At least let her plead her case!' Ceril barked.

'You doom us, girl.' Gleril harshly eyed his daughter. As his back turned from me, his eyes dilated with intensity. 'What proof do you have that concludes Monsotar plans to hand us over to the Tam'Akar?'

Chieftain Gleril seemed proud, stern, and angry with the world. Much like my father—afraid to show weakness. The fact is the Tam'Akar attacked their clan, and Monsotar gave them no other option but to work for him and live under his protection. What I represented was the choice to abstain from the risk of having the same fate as the Red Moss.

Chieftain Gleril's hall found itself in a gargantuan tree hollow of a surrounding Graht-Oak. Ample light beamed through the hall, illuminating Gleril and his first lady. Even a dragon would look like a mere hatchling finch in this tree.

'None,' I said. 'But I do know that the Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood have fallen out of their alliance.'

Gleril turned to Ceril. 'Is this true, daughter?'

Ceril nodded vigorously. 'The Tam'Akar searched Arenthia for weeks looking for Torgoth, forcing me to lurk in the shadows to keep Monsotar satisfied. Only miraculously she arrived before they found and attacked us.'

'Was Monsotar aware of this trouble?' The Chieftain asked.

'I don't know. The Tam'Akar sent Liemo and Andalf the Conjuror to kill me and bring Torgoth back to Aridiil. Monsotar was nowhere to be found.'

Chieftain Gleril closed his eyes and took a slow, exasperated breath. He leaned forward in his chieftain's chair, putting elbows to knees and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I've tried so hard to protect this tribe and the many clans in it. But this world is changing far too fast, becoming far too evil.'

Gleril looked up and over at the shamans who sat in their own chairs. With grim frowns, their wrinkles multiplied. All three represented a time long past, the whole tribal system did, but this world, our Valenwood, still needed the Greenpact.

'Perhaps we should send a representative to speak with Monsotar,' Shaman Saenel suggested in a quiet but concerned voice. 'We could explain what happened in Arenthia and make sure he understands that it isn't our fault. We could send Ceril since she is already our bridge to his guild.'

'We are not sending my daughter to that wretched soul. She will not go anywhere near him, not after all that has happened!' First Lady Belwa rose from her cathedra and descended the dais upon which she and her husband sat. Her voice commanded power that boomed through the chamber. She walked slowly towards me, her smooth feet landing softly on the wood and amber floor. 'I say we give the girl a chance.' She turned to Gleril. 'She did save our daughter, after all. Obviously, this girl can be relied on more so than Monsotar.'

'Belwa, you saw what he did to our King Nagar. A beast like that does not fall so easily. If Monsotar catches wind of Ceril's betrayal, he'll kill the remaining Mothers of the Gilden. He'll kill us.' Chieftain Gleril's eyes lowered to the floor. 'There's still time left to show him that we are still loyal, and the agreement between us still stands.'

I glanced at Ceril, awaiting her protest. Some sort of retort would have been sufficient to sway the stone in our hands. No such argument came. My stay with the Raw Tooth tribe has been peaceful. Occasionally, it's good to take a breather, but my patience wore thin. It's been hours since I awakened, and I haven't been able to speak with Elren and made no progress on convincing the Raw Tooth to join sides with my brother.

Finally, Ceril spoke up. 'No. I won't approach Monsotar, because if I do, I'll put a dagger in his heart.' The chamber grew silent as all eyes fell on the Chieftain's daughter. 'I know how you all feel,' she said, surveying the shamans and her parents. 'We've seen the horrors of the Tam'Akar. We've heard what they've done to the other clans. What they did to ours. We wanted protection, and I completely understand that. The Thieves of the Wood provided us that protection but at a cost. We give them a quarter of our catch, we protect their assets around Valenwood, and they just barely do what they agreed. I almost died without a single Nightblade insight. But...' Ceril pointed at me, '...she was there. Leila Lockharte, daughter to Faeden Lockharte and Ara High-Arrow, sister to Milkar and Aranwen, and the Black Raven of the Silver Crescents. She's the youngest of the Lockharte siblings, and yet she's displayed more courage than this entire tribe of hunters. We've managed to tame and cultivate, capture and defeat the strongest animals these forests have ever produced. Yet we cower to a thief with a burnt sword.'

Ceril stood face to face with her father now. They had the same eyes. 'Truth of the matter, Leila came to seize Torgoth. Keeping him from enchanting for Monsotar is her way of stopping him. I failed to kill her, Monsotar has his sights on us now But that was _always_ the danger—he's always had us one snap of his finger from destruction. It will always be there so as long as we still heed his bidding. Instead, I found an alternative within this girl. Leila has promised that she will protect us. She didn't have to spare me back in Arenthia, she didn't have to fight Liemo so that I could escape, but she did. A quick knife to the throat, an arrow shot through his heart, Leila's job there should have been easy. But no...she looked me in the eyes and told me that she will protect my clan.'

'You take her word—'

Before Shaman Saenel's protests, I spoke. 'I have a friend here. You all might know this. He was a tribesman of the Red Moss.' I looked into Chieftain Gleril's piercing eyes. 'His name is Elren, and he's the first Silver Crescent outside of my brothers that I have ever met. Over a year ago, the Tam'Akar completely obliterated the Red Moss tribe. Few left living—hunted and hidden in their own home province. but that's just the barebones tale. The Red Moss sought the protection of Monsotar, just as many of the royal and lesser tribes have since the fall of the Camoran Throne. But where do you believe him to be during that night?' I nodded. 'He was there.' I shrugged. 'He was there, and he did nothing to stop the butchery. Monsotar Handseed allowed the Tam'Akar to torture and kill the Red Moss tribe.' Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. My voice shook and cracked. Elren was on my mind. 'Bought and sold like chips at a corner club in Falinesti. They sought my mother's power. They sought the _Ghost Flame!_ It is my duty to defeat them and protect the two souls in every tree from Monsotar. Whether you heed to our call or not, Monsotar _is_ coming for you. What's done is done.'

'What makes us any different?' Belwa said with tears in her eyes. 'Our hunts have yielded less and less meat and fur for them for some time. There are even rumors that he's starting to take from other hunting tribes.' She turned to Gleril. 'Soon, we would have spent our usefulness to Monsotar, and he will sell us to the Tam'Akar.'

'Nonsense!' Saenel exclaimed. 'We do not hold secrets of daedric magic or weapons that could bend armies. They will not come for us.'

'But they did, didn't they?' I asked the old shaman. 'Didn't they come after you, kill your Mammoths, and forced you to hide? What was the point of killing a tribe that hid what you were looking for? Simple. The massacre was going to happen regardless.'

'They are _inquisitors_!' I exclaimed. Saenel pursed his lips. 'Their job is ethnic cleansing, don't you all know? When they were in bed with Monsotar, it was a simple trade. The Red Moss for Augoth and Torgoth Thornbush.'

Gleril shook his head and released a long breath. 'Lockharte child, if what you say is true about our terms with Monsotar, how could we trust you and your brothers? How can we trust the children of the very politician that allows this to happen to his people?'

It was my turn for long sighs. 'Milkar Lockharte is the leader of the Silver Crescents. Do you know what that means?'

He shook his head.

'It means that both the Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood are his enemies.'

'Fame and legend do not mean a thing!' Shaman Saenel exclaimed loudly from the side. 'It's all conjecture and word of mouth.'

I turned to the shaman as he quickly sat back in his seat. 'My brother is stronger than I am.' I pointed at Ceril. 'And she would tell you what _I_ am capable of. Perhaps she could help you understand?' I signaled Ceril to help me out.

Ceril turned to her father. 'Leila took on two Tam'Akar agents herself... Yet she stands here alive. That should tell us more than enough of who we could ally ourselves with. If anyone's going to eliminate Monsotar and the Altmer, it's her Silver Crescents.'

Ceril shot me a nod of approval. 'We could help as well! We could offer her assistance with trying to turn this province around! It's not going to be like the Thieves of the Wood, we'll have an active role in trying to fulfill their dream of a Valenwood absent of the evil that has seeped into the hearts of the Bosmer in charge and the evil of the Thalmor regime.'

Shaman Yneg stood from her seat and shook her staff towards Gleril, awarding her a tired glare from the chieftain. 'Do not be like your predecessors. Do what is right for your clan!'

'I thought I was,' Gleril said with his brows raised. 'When my father was chieftain, I thought I would become greater than him. He was a warrior as much as he was a hunter. He protected the Raw Tooth from creatures not of this world, from the corrupt mer that would exploit us, and yet here I sit, siding with criminals so that they spare us.'

A low raspy voice crept out from the trio of shamans that sat to the right of me. The voice came from the third and final shaman I have yet to hear. This one was obviously the oldest of the three, and probably the wisest. 'Perhaps... we must consider the times we all live in now.' The shaman made a slow turn of his neck to consider the occupants in the room. Lazy, tired eyes looked down at me. 'This world is changing faster than any of us could imagine. Even for ones as young as them. I have fought with, and alongside Altmer in the past, and even in my prime, I could not tell you that I would survive against them. If they are after us, we must change our views. We should put our berries in a newer basket.'

Gleril leaned back in his chair, face bracing in his hand. I stood before them, my hands behind my back, feet shoulder width apart, awaiting their answer. They don't understand fully what I represent. How could they? The Silver Crescents haven't operated in the light yet, but that's the point. One day, when people awake from their beds, they will find the burdens that weighed them down day by day have lessened. And it will be because they could leave their home and not worry about not returning at the end of the day. We will succeed, I will make sure of it.

'I will think on it,' Chieftain Gleril said. 'If I decide in your favor, I will have my daughter summon you. For now, take the time you need to rest.' He dropped his shoulders and leaned further into the cathedra. 'Now please, I have been away on a long hunt. It's time I rest.'

I nodded and turned away from the chieftain. But before I exited the chamber, I stopped. 'When my blade crosses path with Monsotar's flesh, and it will,' I glanced at the shamans, the First Lady, and finally the chieftain, 'there won't be a Monsotar to help you. Just your back to the fires against your culture.' As I turned one final time, the only sound heard was the crow of a messenger raven.

* * *

I walked straight out of the chamber and into the antechamber where _gleamblossoms_ sprouted from all corners, illuminating the room. A warming touch to the air filtered in by a cluster of resin nodes. There are times where one often loses focus on the goals when the mind yearns to turn away. I've learned in the past moon cycles that there is something in me that would break before it bends. I am angry, but at what, I was not sure.

I had to do this; I wanted to. But why I needed to do, it made me furious. I could think of being on my own, away from anyone else. On my own path somewhere where the world can't see me.

'Two Tam'Akar members? You? Tell me how, please.'

The voice startled me out of my thoughts. I spun around to see Sickle Ear's bulk. 'You were eavesdropping?'

He scratched behind his overly long ears and chuckled. 'Sorry about that. But... what I overheard... I want to help my tribe too, ya know? We hunters train for everything you could think of.'

Despite his size, Sickle Ear's mass was due to muscle and sinew. And despite that fact, he managed to get this close to me without my attention. It was the same for Ceril back in Arenthia. These people were skilled if not well trained in muffling their movement to a whisper. Expectant of a royal hunting tribe. They would make excellent thieves.

'You want to fight?'

'It's not about wantin' to fight and take life,' he said. 'I wanna do what I can to protect my tribe.'

I knew all too well what that was like.

'There are... other ways,' I told him.

He sighed. 'I heard the Elren fellow is also a good fighter like you, well if he could do it, so can I!'

My mind fell on Elren. I've wanted to see him since I awoke in the healing pod; since he carried me here. 'I didn't come here asking for bodies to fight a war.'

'I can't stand idly by no longer, ya know? A lot of us hunters feel inadequate when we're forced to move because some goldenback saw us in _our_ forests. We feel as if we're weak and vulnerable.'

'It's true.' I turned to see Ceril behind me. The glow from the soft light emitted by the _gleamblossoms_ and resin nodes melted over her skin. 'Despite what the chieftain says, I think I can trust your strength. But we have to be proactive in our own protection as well.'

'So, help us. Help my brother transform this province into what it once was.'

'Take us to him,' Sickle demanded. 'Please.'

In the distance, a horn released a baritone moan that reverberated through the grove. Ceril and Sickle Ear's face fell into a grimace as their ears twitched towards the sound. I felt the desperation filling the air. 'What's that?' The horn was different from the one blown at the return of the hunters.

'Visitor. And not the good kind.' Ceril growled.

We turned back to the chieftain's chambers and walked back up the dais. Chieftain Gleril was standing, his posture rigid but his face tired. All three shamans were at his side, dressed in their robes made of the finest furs. The First Lady still sat in her cathedra slowly peeling a cadera fruit at her leisure.

Outside, a pronounced squawk rang from far—the sound of a single eagle flying over a mountain. In just a moment later, a flash of color came through the giant entrance to the tree hollow, flying at a great speed before landing just before the chieftain. I took a step back, reaching for a knife that I did not have. I wished I carried my weapons with me.

The bird was even taller than Sickle Ear, leaving its wingspan to be many times as wide as all of us. Its beady eyes bounced from one place to the next, never focusing on something for more than a heartbeat. Its wings were a vibrant red like the sun's stain on the sky at the moment it dips behind the horizon. What surprised me was that there was a Bosmer riding it. The wood elf stepped from the bird and took long strides towards Gleril.

'Who has arrived, Nirindir?' Gleril asked the rider.

'Chieftain Gleril. It's the Duke of the Seven Clover Grove. He's brought an entourage—all armed.'

Gleril chewed the inside of his cheek. 'Summon my huntsmen.'

Nirindir bowed and flew back out the tree hollow.

'Duke of the Seven Clover Grove?'

Ceril motioned me to follow her. So, I did with Sickle Ear. 'Duke Elbgor is in Monsotar's pocket. So, he comes here every so often to...check up on us,' Ceril explained as we made our way through the tree.

'Perhaps they know?' I asked

Ceril shrugged. 'I won't doubt it. Now's the time to prove yourself. Most likely he's come with Monsotar's Nightblades.'

'I need my sword and bow.'

'Just follow me.'

Everyone rushed to the line of forest again. Ceril, Sickle, and I went the opposite direction. The people of the Raw Tooth tribe weren't as elated as they were with the return of their chieftain and his hunting party. This time they were all dead silent. Standing there with their attention faced towards the towering trees before them. Ceril explained that this pocket of Graht-Oaks was known as the Seven Clover Grove. In the Greenpact, no Bosmer was able to have any holding of land, it was just too farfetched, but it seemed there were no blasphemous acts Monsotar would abstain from. He didn't directly own anything, just those that lord over the villages and towns in the regions.

The dukes and Treethanes that pride themselves as lower caste nobility seem to feel as if they have unlimited power. And its thanks to the changes that occurred during the coup d'état that saw the expansion of the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor has given those most loyal to them authority to demand taxes and tariffs from chosen regions of the forest. At first, they excluded the Greenpact Bosmer that lived deep in the wilds, but over the years that's changed for the worse. Now, it's the least of their worries. On one side, the Thalmor deployed their inquisitors to convert Bosmer to a more modern religious pantheon, they refused, so the Tam'Akar opened a hidden campaign to eliminate all Greenpact Bosmer that won't budge.

Many Treethanes and lesser politicians took advantage of tribes like the Raw Tooth. They've used the power granted to them to impose taxes on the Greenpact and threatened them with annihilation, which forced the wild Bosmer to turn to alternative protection. They turned to Monsotar and his Nightblades. This too was fatal. The politicians that threatened and taxed the wild Bosmer was also in fed by Monsotar's coin, the one person that they thought would protect them.

We were going to end it.

We arrived at a bed of _Towering Siliacs_ , flowers that grew the height of three Bosmer and emitted a soft, red glow—almost pink. Ceril led the way, looking up at their flat petals. A long root, growing improperly from the others cut this section off from the rest of the Raw Tooth's massive camp. Very few of the tribesmen were here, walking around silently and peacefully. This place was quiet, obviously used by the Raw Tooth to escape the commotion of their tribe's continuous working.

'He should be around here somewhere,' Ceril said scanning the tops of the flowers. 'Oh, look.'

Sitting at the base of a siliac was my sword and bow and quiver. They seemed so normal like peaceful instruments as the shadow of the boughs above crosses them. 'He just leaves it out in the open like that?' I asked, walking up to them. 'Where is he?' I traced the stem up to the long, flat petals. As I surveyed the flower, I spotted Elren sitting cross-legged with his eyes shut.

'Is meditation also a tradition of the Greenpact Bosmer?' I asked him.

'You were taking too long.'

'You could've joined us.' I raised an eyebrow.

Elren stood and looked down at me. 'I wanted you to see how they lived.' He jumped and landed softly on the ground. 'Are they okay?'

I shrugged. 'I'm not sure Torgoth will make it, but Augoth will. He's stronger than what I gave me credit for.'

Elren picked up Twilight's Talon. The sword's blade glistened in Y'ffre's Light emanating from the towering siliacs. 'Are you ready?'

It was a simple question with many complex answers. Am I ready? Was I ready to fight for this clan? As a lancer of the Silver Crescents? Was I ready to step into the darkness, into the shadows? All the good I will do will be obscured by the darkness of my crimes and of my sins. And I was ready to step into it.

I took my sword from Elren and strapped my bow. Was I ready, he asked. I was ready. To reach the peeks at which Milkar stood and then go beyond him. I held the sword out; as I did so, the first of the three runes at the base of the blade illuminated a deep, dark violet glow. Almost like a blacklight, it was a contradiction of this world's natural forces. The ebony that chased the purely carved Iron-Bark grew violet in color. This was the power that Augoth Thornbush pushed into the blade, something mysterious and powerful. A gift to punish those who would stand in my brother's way.

We rushed towards where the chieftain of the Raw Tooth met with the Duke of the Seven Clover Grove. Still, the crowd formed a crescent around the where they arrived. The duke was there, standing with over a dozen armed Nightblades.

The duke was smaller than I thought, shorter than me by at least two fingers. Looks of despair painted the tribesmen. All these strong and proud hunters scared of Monsotar's men. They needed me. At the forefront of the crowd Gleril, his right and left-hand men, and the rest of his trusted huntsmen stood between the Duke and the tribe.

'We heard what happened in Arenthia. Torgoth's entire store obliterated by those damned Altmer. Such a shame really.' The duke's voice slithered from a pinched mouth. 'I hope your daughter made it out okay.'

'Since when is my daughter's well-being any of your concern,' Gleril asked, sliding a hand down his bone spear.

'Let's not be pretentious, Chieftain Gleril. Your daughter was Torgoth's retainer. If Torgoth is dead, that means she failed.' The duke walked closer to the chieftain, the pudge around his midsection jiggled as he walked. 'But... I've also heard that they both survived that day and that they could be alive. Do you know anything about it?'

'No.'

'No?' The duke's brow raised. 'You don't know where Ceril and Torgoth is?'

'Don't mistake me, Elbgor. Don't believe for a moment I would hand my daughter over to you.'

Elbgor scanned his eyes over the tribesmen of the Raw Tooth. 'I really love how harmonious your people are, Gleril. I do, truly. You all came to a consensus to work with Monsotar under stressful times. The most intelligible thing you could have done, really.' He shrugged. 'What's happened? Has that intelligence faded? Or perhaps you've grown complacent, and that's what's given you this false sense of confidence?'

Then tension tightened. The tribe was quiet, anticipating. Although the Raw Tooth tribe was all trained to hunt, they were a peaceful tribe. All Greenpact tribes were, but in recent decades they've experienced far more conflict than ever before. When the hunters become the hunted. I slowly oozed through the crowd, making my way towards the forefront, still listening to Gleril and Duke Elbgor speak. This was quickly leaning towards a fight, and I needed to show them that I mean to keep my promise to protect them from any threat.

I stood just behind the line of Bosmer. Monsotar's group of elite thieves were all the danger you could expect.

Elbgor wore Gleril's patience thin. He looked older now, his eyes sharper still. But there was something about those eyes that struck a nerve with me. I saw fear.

'This isn't going to end well. We are not strong enough to challenge them alone,' someone whispered. I turned slightly to see Shaman Yneg behind me. She wore her sorrow plainly. 'We need help. So, help us. Please. Help the chieftain.'

I nodded slowly.

'Just tell me where they're at, or we'll carve a path straight to through you to them.'

'I won't allow you to harm them.' Gleril gripped his spear tighter.

Elbgor shook his double-chinned face and raised a hand. Something wet bathed my cheek, forehead, and hair. I lifted a hand to my face, and it came away red. Blood. I didn't understand, then, why I or anyone near would be bleeding. I craned my head slightly toward the direction of which the blood gushed and splattered. The crowd of tribesmen gave me a wide girth, which confused me further. Shaman Yneg, who was only moments ago standing at my side was not among those who were trying to flee. I took a step forward, but my foot thumped something warm and heavy. I peered down.

The arrow protruded from Yneg's forehead, her eyes rolled until the whites showed, her teeth skinned of her lips. The screams started. My hand instinctively fell to the hilt of Twilight's Talon. The cool Iron-Bark felt good on my skin, calming, ready. It was as if the sword absorbed the anger and weaponized it within my mind, giving me sharp focus through the blinding rage filling my hard. My hands throbbed against the metal-like bark, itching, cawing for more. More, more, more, more! The sword wanted to feast; to bite into my enemies and make them feel pain.

I pulled the blade free. Twilight's Talon quivered in my grip. I sucked in air, letting it fill my lungs to their vital capacity.

This call to battle, an elation of spirit, feels like a high. More than being a rogue, more than thievery. It wasn't destiny or this sword; it wasn't the call of the divines, nor was it my mother from Aetherius. This was the battle that called when my blood surges through my veins and my skin dances as I fight.

The clattering of weapons finally registered through my mind. I turned towards the Chieftain and his huntsmen engaging the Nightblades. Although their weapons were Osseinium, the Nightblade's wielded Thornbush enchanted weapons. There was no other choice but to help. I kneeled beside the Greenpact priest and sorrowfully pulled the arrow from her head. I slid her eyelids closed and called for someone to retrieve her body.

Elren reached me. 'We can save them.'

'We will.' I threw the arrow aside. 'We will.'

Ceril ran up to us, tears falling from her eyes. She dropped beside her shaman, weeping. 'Gods-damn it!'

'It was too fast for me,' I admitted. 'The nightblade is a class of warrior that uses stealth and shadow. Monsotar's Nightblades are a group of elite thieves; their skill in combat is unmatched.'

'I... I don't care. I want them dead,' she cried.

I nodded.

Elren and I fell into a trot at first. I breathed slowly, feeling the weight of my sword in my hand. Then from a trot into a run, I gritted my teeth. By the time we sprinted towards the fight, blood was the only thing on my mind. I wanted it—to bathe in it. I came by Gleril's side as two of Monsotar's men ganged him. I sliced through one the second's sword arm as he brought it down on Gleril. No resistance, no feeling of sighing sensation of something sharp cutting through meat, it was just like cutting through the air. My blade sang. His appendage flailed wildly through the air before thudding on the ground. The Nightblade turned his head sideways, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. I brought my sword across his chest, once and then twice then again for the third time. The Iron-Bark, carved to perfection, cut into him too easily. Muddied with his guts, the Bosmer crumpled onto the ground.

Gleril speared his opponent through the neck and slid away from the body. He turned to me and shared a nod.

Like a gust of air, I spun around, meeting blade to blade with another foe. This one was tall and stronger than the other. He threw me back with his push, but not much. I swept the air between us, garnering space. A bone coif shielded his face, and his twin cleavers were sharp. A loud cackle escaped him.

'What's so funny?' I asked him.

'I'm just thinking about the ash when Monsotar burns you all. It'll look like Vvardenfell in the summer.' He cackled again.

'Burn us all?' I inquired. 'Ash?'

I gripped Twilight's Talon hard and felt its power seep into me. The violet glow stretched through the chasing ebony and bolstered the blade. I raised it towards him. Single rune lit. 'Let's see if you know what it means to "burn."'

He charged, and I hopped from his reach, allowing the Nightblade's attack fall through. He swung left and right, but his blades were too slow to connect. Finally, I cut through the metal of his weapons, cleaving his cleavers. He took a step back, his eyes wide, his lips curled around a curse. I pierced him through and held my sword in the wound.

'Burn?' I let my face ask the question. 'This... is how you burn.'

Death by Twilight's Talon didn't look like a peaceful way to go. From the wound on, his body began to crumble into ash, like the Dominion Soldiers in Arenthia, armor, and flesh cease to be. There was no fire, no heat, and no screams. The Nightblade simply disintegrated without any protests of pain.

The stories of the _Ghost Flame_ said that Mother's arrows turned their targets to ash as it burned them. Only there wasn't any burning. When a fire is lit on a log, the log's wood smolders as the fires burn, but with my sword and with the _Ghost Flame_ , there's no smolder—just ash.

I carved through two more Nightblades. A snarling, scarred Bosmer barged through the fight, taking the life of a hunter on his way. This one went a bit insane with alterations to his body. His teeth were filed sharp, giving him the likeness of a feral beast. Instead of eyebrows, short bony protrusions were in their place. He was fast, this one. He moved with an animal instinct, good, however not good enough to best me. The Nightblade wielded two blades in either hand, one longsword and a shortsword in his weak hand. The technique seemed to off balance him slightly, something someone not trained to spot such a minor flaw would miss entirely. I would use it to my advantage. He was light on his feet, managing quick bursts of speed at short distances without any build up, and he could strike precisely at any angle or elevation. Our blade clashed in a flurry of quick and light strikes, we relied purely on our speed to get the advantage on each other.

I felt vulnerable without my armor. Just as naked as showing my bare skin to the world. It wasn't so much the protection it provided, but the confidant of being in a different skin. In the black leathers and cloak, I _was_ someone different, _something_ different. It made me feel powerful.

The Nightblade broke my guard with a twirl, slashing down Twilight's Talon and flicking his shortsword into an underhand grip, driving it towards my neck. In a small sliver of time, he had to adjust his footing to gain balance in his attack. I bent backward, having the blade's bite miss me by a hair's width. I caught myself before the fall and pivot on the ball of my foot, coming around again with my sword to parry a strike. I followed through with an elbow strike and struck him in the dome. He faltered back a little, grogginess in his eyes. I couldn't counter because of me cracking my joint nerve on his brow spines. The tingles of electricity jolted through my sword arm. I scrambled to grow the distance between us, giving us both a chance to recover.

No one ever speaks of the oddities that occur in battles. The little weird happenings that can sometimes be fatal. Slipping on blood, mud, or a shift of the ground can kill you in a fight. In the fight pits Tutor Rollyn threw me in, I once won a fight because the boy I fought against had a cockroach fly right up his nose. Or when warriors charge long distances with heavy armor and end up dying by their enemy's blade just because they grew tired before the fight even started.

The snarling Nightblade's recovery didn't last as long, and he quickly charged me. Dropping Twilight's Talon, I withdrew my dagger to defend myself, but arm still flopped as my control over my own arm loosened. My dagger careened through the air and land hilt up in the dirt. I watched as a smile creeked his mouth, and his blade ascend to the air.

It never descended. Instead, a bone spear pierced through the Nightblades neck from the back, blood gushing from the wound. The body fell to the ground revealing Chieftain Gleril staring down at me. In a moment locked away from time, that fear came to light more strongly than ever before. Those stark eyes of his widened and there I saw his plea for help. An elf whose lost all other options. He reached for me, offering a hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.

The battle continued around me. Everyone was locked in their own fight. The Raw Tooth huntsmen and the Thieves of the Wood killed each other with animalistic ferocity. Amid it all, the duke of the Seven Clovers was scurrying away like the coward he was. I ran straight towards him. I picked my dagger from the ground and gave chased. I twirled around a scythe, slid under two dagger clashes, and jumped over an elf biting another elf. Elbgor jumped into the underbrush, and I followed him in.

Twilight's Talon sharpness cut through the ground in a line of violet fissures, activating its enchantment and upheaving the dirt underneath Elbgor. I never knew fat globs could fly. The ground sizzled with a cold touch. Cold like the world—like the hate for corruption. I took my time reaching Elbgor, whistling a smooth tune.

'Who...who in the Void are you?' The fatness of him jiggled, and he panted as if he ran for several leagues without stopping.

'Hmm?' I cocked my head to the side. 'Monsotar hadn't warned you of me, I presume. I suppose, just like the Raw Tooth, he didn't care whether you live or die. And presuming by the lack of trained Nightblades you brought here, he truly doesn't.'

Elbgor gasped. 'You're one of the feckin' brats, aren't you? The group of miscreants that's become a thorn in everyone's side! You're here doing more of your handiwork?'

I shrugged. 'I suppose?'

'What you all did in Arenthia wasn't missed at all. Now you've got the Tam'Akar hounding every associate of the Woods. Including me! I'll make sure Monsotar finds you and burn you alive! As he always does with those who try to stand in his way.' The blob of a Bosmer stood on trembling, fat legs. 'Where is Torgoth? Where is he! You're antagonizing the wrong people, girl.' He scowled.

'I would like to think those are all the right people.' I kicked the duke back to the ground. He stayed, threatened by the tip of my sword.

'That's enough.'

I looked up to see a Nightblade standing in the underbrush. I remembered that face, that demonic aura of dread. Those dark green eyes seem to push me back, but it was my shock and surprise that did that. 'You survived?'

'I did.' Rindiel said, approaching. He wore that same bone armor the night we rescued Augoth. A ribbed vest, plated with foreign steel over a yak leather shirt. A dark hood hid the deep scars Elren dealt to his face.

'You're one of his Crows!' Duke Elbgor cried. 'Kill her! They're attacking! Help the others kill them all.'

'Elbgor.' Rindiel stood at an arm's length from me, his calm persona and faint voice angered me. It was as if leaving him barely alive did nothing to strike fear in him. 'You were told not to attack the tribe. A specific request from Monsotar.'

Duke Elbgor's eyes widened. The fat Bosmer's pleas grew more desperate as he realized Rindiel wouldn't protect him. It surprised me as well. But, at that moment, I didn't care. Rindiel was here, and he was the facilitator of the Red Moss massacre. He had to die along with the Duke.

I tried to catch Rindiel by surprise with a swing of my sword. Rindiel was ready for it. He leaned back, allowing the sword to drive past him. I pulled it back strike after strike, Rindiel dodged them all swiftly, his footwork nearly perfect. My body was already growing tired. I hadn't fully recuperated before entering battle with the Nightblades. Rindiel made his first strike. A punch to the bridge of my nose, throwing me off balance. Before I could recover, he followed with a lead punch, a quick jab then a rear hand punch to my jaw. I twirled, slipped over Elbgor's legs, and crashed to the dirt.

I spat dust and blood from my mouth. Hot flashes coursed through my body. And he made it worse by waiting for me to stand. I allowed the enchantment to bolster my blade, making Twilight's Talon glow. I struck the air, the magicka gathered at the blade of my sword blasted off towards Rindiel's direction. The ground sizzled and ashen by Twilight's Talon's power. But Rindiel managed to escape it. I let off two more strikes, hurdling towards the Red Moss traitor and every time he managed to dodge death. With swift feet, he closed the gap between us, grabbed my sword hand and my hilt and sent me crashing to the floor with a punch to the side of the head.

The world around me swirled with grog. Rindiel pulled a sawed ranseur from his back. The weapon shimmered with an intense illumination, beating out the sun. But it wasn't for me. He pushed the polearm blade into the gullet of the duke. Elbgor's face twisted with pain and confusion as the ranseur slowly moved deeper into his gullet. He choked on his blood to say something, but he was dead before his mouth could clear. Through the blinding light, I could see the shining blood seep into the mud.

'Now let's clean this mess up.'


	17. Under My Protection

_The Raw Tooth was a tragedy on my hands._

* * *

Chapter 17: Under My Protection

Pure, unbridled light strobed as Rindiel made his way towards the rest of the battle resumed. I tried following, but his polearm Ranseur held the power of the Sun's light, or so it seemed. The presence of Torgoth Thornbush's work was obvious to anyone familiar. Rindiel was a Nightblade under the employment of Monsotar. This is what we should have expected.

I stumbled around a root wall, adjusting my eyes to the sudden brightness proved too difficult. My ears twitched to the sounds surrounding me instead. The patter of feet forced me to spin towards its maker. Whether they were enemy or ally wasn't clear. Quickly, I reached for the clothing of whomever it was. Armor. Before I could counter the enemies attack, a sharp pain ripped across my face by a blunted blow—a fist. My back slammed into the ground. Through the blindness, the face of the Nightblade seemed young, smooth even. I raised my sword and kicked in the boy's legs. He toppled over but tried to recover immediately. I laced my legs around him, pinning him to his fall and pulling his free arm with me. As he collapsed, his chest slid down the length of Twilight's Talon's blade.

Over on the battlefield, mer screamed. I stood to see bright flashes separate the two sides, Rindiel standing between them all. He held his Ranseur in the air, the blade made of pure light.

Gleril's men and the attacking Nightblades halted their fighting to look at Rindiel flash his weapon's power.

'That is enough,' Rindiel said. 'We are leaving.'

'As corpses!' Chieftain Gleril growled.

'We were not supposed to harm any of your people, Chieftain. It is a mistake on my part to give the Duke such power. Hand over the enchanter and the girl and leave with your life.'

All Gleril's impossible composure began to fracture. When an elf finds that logic eludes him, when the unnecessary death of the people he loves means nothing to this cruel, unforgiving world, there is something that breaks. A life lived in peace receives an inconceivable awakening. 'You... you wanted me to hand my daughter over to you monsters? How could I have done that? She is heir to this tribe. She is my daughter!'

'The sacrifice of one to save hundreds.' Rindiel looked at the large carts of animal carcasses. 'Isn't that a balance you know well?'

'You swore to protect us! This isn't protecting us.' Chieftain Gleril surveyed the dead. He lost half of his best huntsmen, Bosmer not easily replaced. 'I... can't even protect them.' He realized.

Someone stepped past the Chieftain. Fully clad in his leathers and cloak, hood upheld over his head, and brown eyes blazing, he walked over to Rindiel. I knew that look.

'So,' Rindiel said, 'you're here, nephew.'

Elren said nothing.

'Are you here to cut me down like last time? Will you leave me to bleed out on the ground?'

'Speak less,' Elren said in a simple but demanding tone.

Rindiel allowed himself a small, sorrowful smile. 'Alas, I suppose I'm still _Srekanb Terces_. I haven't told anyone the truth of Elren of the Red Moss. My nephew, son of my sister and an Imperial refugee. The shame of my tribe.'

'I'm sure you know what "shut up" means, correct?' I asked, approaching my friend. 'It means to close that disgusting hole in your head before I fill it with my blade.'

Rindiel sneered at me. 'I'm sparing all your lives.'

'You're only sparing yourself,' I told him. 'Earlier today, I told the Chieftain that the Thieves of the Wood will turn on them for the slightest reason. His daughter did not plan to betray your thieves' guild, and the Tam'Akar attacked them without warning. Truth be told, the Altmer were there before I arrived in Arenthia. Why is that, I ask. Enchanters open weapon's shops all the time, some even work under the Treethanes. So, why? I believe your guild master brokered another deal.'

'What are you saying, girl?' Gleril queried.

I knelt beside the chieftain of the Raw Tooth. 'It wasn't a deal like the one that saw the genocide of the Red Moss, but it's just a despicable. The Tam'Akar have always held Monsotar in their sights—they are at war. And the reasons for that war are the two brothers caught in the middle of it all. But Monsotar is a businessman if anything else.' I held everyone's attention now. 'A trade for peace. Monsotar would rather give the Thornbushes back to the Tam'Akar for cooperation rather than fight over them. Just like the Duke of the Seven Clover Grove, the Thieves of the Wood have clients that are also backed by the Thalmor. It just serves Monsotar to stay his forces from fighting the Altmer. So, he sells Torgoth to the Tam'Akar and creates peace.'

Rindiel shrugged. 'You're only half right. Regardless of peace, the Tam'Akar are planning something big. It will change Valenwood forever as we know it. To ensure the survival of the Thieves of the Wood, he must cooperate with them. They want Thornbush power—Monsotar has what they need. _That_ is the reason for this trade. You're blocking peace, Lockharte.'

'So, what? The death of my men was for nothing here?' Gleril cried. 'Shaman Yneg is dead for nothing?'

'This mess was a mistake, but you should have given Ceril and Torgoth over to avoid needless bloodshed.'

'Why Ceril?' I asked. 'You seem adamant about taking her as well.'

'That's not of your concern.'

'It's because I possess the _Soul Link_ from my tribe to my mind. It is a bloodline limit that arrives only once a generation.' Ceril explained, approaching us. 'Every animal that this tribe kills, its soul transfers to me, allowing Torgoth to use the soul to power an unlimited number of enchanted weapons. I'm just as valuable to Monsotar as Torgoth.'

'So, you're a living soul gem, then.' I sighed. 'Everyone has a gimmick. No wonder it had to be the daughter of a chieftain to work for Monsotar. But it all just proves what I've been saying. Monsotar's protection of the Greenpact tribes is nothing but leverage to save himself. He's played you all.'

Finally, Chieftain Gleril stood tall next to me, his daughter, and Elren. A person that can gather himself in the midst of such inner turmoil is the making of a good leader. That's what Tutor Rollyn taught me many years ago. But back then, I would never have thought I'd be placed in the battles I've fought today. With sword or mind. Every day since leaving his side, I thought about his ramblings I only half listened to, every day I live through his lessons, and then I thank the old man for preparing me. Every day I miss him. He was a good leader.

'It's high time, we choose whose hands we rest our fate upon,' Gleril said. 'This time, we will choose our own. You will not get my daughter, and you will not get Torgoth Thornbush. You will leave here empty handed or be fed to the Greenpact.'

'Leave now, Rindiel. You know how this will end.' I raised my sword with its enchantment activated.

Rindiel considered our last line of defense. We outnumbered him ten to one, but the Nightblades weren't ordinary thieves. Those Nightblades that work under Monsotar are trained by masters of illusionist and stealth battle. They're snakes with long fangs and powerful venom. It wouldn't be an easy fight. Many would die.

Rindiel tapped the end of his Ranseur to the group, causing the world to engulf in a blinding light. When the flashing lights subsided, the Nightblades were gone. Even their dead disappeared. The Raw Tooth were safe for now.

It was true, however, that Monsotar formed a wall of protection around these Greenpact Bosmer even it was thin and easily torn when he felt it convenient. It was still protection. Nothing will stop the Tam'Akar from attacking the Raw Tooth in accordance with their plans. They still did not have the power to fight against the Altmer inquisitors. It seemed, though, that Chieftain Gleril did not want my brother's protection or anyone else's. Weakness was no longer an option for him. But not even the Mothers of the Gilden were enough to help them.

That evening, they gave their dead to Arkay.

Not apart of their tribe, Elren and I did not attend their dead rituals. Although, Elren was most familiar with their ways. I respected that they needed the privacy and excused myself early before the first bite.

Many hours later, in the dead of night Elren, Ceril, and I went to monitor the progress of the Thornbush brother's recovery. Torgoth's fever worsened, even has the healers expelled their magicka to reverse his injuries. He needed more than what they offered.

The healing chamber was silent. Torgoth lay on the root-table, unmoving. Sweat beading from the heat radiating in waves from his body. He was dying. One healer grabbed a luminescent milky substance from her sack and rubbed it over his head. Finally, the master enchanter moved to breathe heavily.

'What is that?' I asked the old Bosmer woman.

'Cabacna plaque,' she told me. 'It is fermented on the gums of the Mothers of the Gilden. It... it helps soothe the pain as he goes.'

'Goes?'

I felt Elren's hand touch my shoulder. 'He is lost,' he whispered.

'No. He isn't. Take that shit off him now!' I tore from Elren's grip.

Under the master enchanter's eyelids, his eyes were moving frantically. But the rest of his face relaxing into a simple, small smile. He dreamed peacefully; it would have been criminal to wake him from it.

It was too late for him now. Arkay's cycle of life and death begins. Somewhere, someone just as powerful an enchanter will be born, and that person will have Torgoth's soul. And Augoth will be without a brother. I had only wished they'd come together in the end, put aside their differences, their petty hate, be brothers. Even as the sweat pooled under him and as his chest rose and fell with a shallow beat, he smiled. The plaque was at least serving its purpose. A good dream for him at the end of his days.

Through that smile, Torgoth began whispering. Although incoherent, I fetched that only word I understood—his brother's name.

I stepped away from the root table as the healers did all they could. But, in the end, it wasn't enough.

Torgoth passed within the hour.

* * *

'You sure you wouldn't rather stay with your people? I asked Ceril as she sat nonchalantly against the hardened resin. 'The both of you?'

'Listen,' Ceril began. 'I know we're not very roguish, but we can serve you and your brother well.'

I had no qualms with them joining. In fact, to further my brother's agenda, build the Silver Crescents to its greatest potential, and fight against Monsotar's legions of thieves and criminals, we needed more people to join. Ceril and Sickle were damn good sneaks. And it would only take a bit of training before they could clear out a shop with the patrons still in there. What I was worried about was the danger being a Silver Crescent permit.

'Are you sure? Death is a big part of doing what we do. We're enemies of the province and of the underground world. Don't think for a moment you'll get a breath of rest.'

'Ain't we gots the same enemies? That makes us allies!' Sickle said.

'You've got the point,' I said looking at the brute. 'But you don't have to fight those enemies. You're under my protection.'

Sickle's laugh boomed through the antechamber. 'Yer funny.'

'And why's that?'

'You think yer powerful cause you gots that fancy sword and bow. Powerful stuff, yes. But without it—'

'Without it, I became the champion of the Dragonteeth pits at the age of ten. Twice.' He shut up at that. 'Without it, I managed to wound Aridiil the Nefarious and held my own against Florentine, a terramancer. This sword maybe powerful, one of the strongest enchantments I've ever seen in my life, but without it...without it I'm still the apprentice of Rollyn the Special; daughter of Faeden, the Battlereeve of the Ranger Guard; and Ara High-Arrow, the hero of the Oblivion Crisis. Without this sword, I am still Leila Lockharte.'

'Fine. We get it. You're good. We saw you kill Nightblades as if they were mere children whilst my father and his huntsmen struggled. Still. Don't worry about us.' Ceril turned to Sickle. 'We can handle this world. And we can handle yours as well.' Sickle nodded.

'Then so be it.' I stuck my hand out, and she took it softly then held firm.

'So be it.'

In the chieftain's chamber, the wind blew softly, rustling the willowbushes into a soft hiss. First Lady Belwa sat lazily over the bark ridging the outline of the hollow. The breeze moved gently across the dress of her tribe. Admiring the vast sea of lesser trees, she didn't notice her daughter, and I enter the chamber. But the chieftain's eyes fell on us. Unlike the Treethanes, we didn't need to address a steward or praetorian before speaking with him. Such is the way of the Greenpact. The chieftain may be a leader, but he isn't royalty, and the people of the Raw Tooth aren't his subjects—everyone is family here; everyone can speak freely.

'You've come to abdicate?' The chieftain's voice broke.

'I will not be away forever. I will continue my duty as your heir upon the moon of your death, Chieftain.' Ceril didn't bow, she didn't hold formalities, although her words spoke the respects of such. She was merely a girl missing her father.

Penitence felt like pins stabbing into the confounds of my heart. Over my own sire and the lack of kinship between us. I did not know my father; even after he raised me. I shook the feelings quickly.

'Where will you go?' He asked.

'With Leila.'

Gleril's eyes fell on me. He did not respect my name, for it holds the weight of my entire clan. The Lockhartes: farmers, warriors, politicians. My father's name is a line that has shaped Valenwood to what it is today. Sometimes it seems lost, sometimes broken, but it is strong, and it is willing. He might not respect the Lockharte name, but he will respect me for what I am. 'Why?'

'Because I want to learn how to protect us.'

'You can learn that here, daughter!' Belwa cried. 'You mustn't leave, please!'

'Not just _us_. But all of us. All Valenwood. How many more Greenpact Bosmer is Monsotar willing to trade? The Tam'Akar will squeeze every tribe from his grip as he desperately prolongs his life. But we're going to end it.'

'No! Ceril, you cannot leave us again. You should stay here where it is safe.' Belwa's cries fell deaf on Gleril's ears.

Gleril shifted uncomfortably in his cathedra. 'You've grown strong, Ceril. I cannot hold you back from the world, I never planned to. Your path is your own. I cannot steer it or you. However, I can leave you with some advice, my daughter. You should be warier about who you trust in this world. It is cruel and unforgiving. The past year has shown you that, I'm sure. But you're like me, you recognize strength. As you have within the young Lockharte. Which is why I trust you in believing in her.'

Ceril nodded.

'And you,' Gleril said, setting his glare on me again. 'Faeden Lockharte was supposed to be the link between the people and the Silvenar. But seeing as he has no intentions of hearing the pleas of his own people, I will leave you with the responsibility of reaching out to your own kin. Beseech your father, tell him that the children of Y'ffre seek an audience with the Silvenar, or all trust is lost for the shepherds of Valenwood.'

'My father...' I looked across the vastness of the forest. 'I haven't spoken to my father in quite some time...but, by the words of a daughter or by the tip of my blade, I will ensure that Faeden Lockharte hears the pleas of all Greenpact Bosmer.'

Chieftain Gleril nodded approvingly and sat back in his chieftain's seat. But before he dismissed us, he cocked his head to the side. 'You there.'

'Yes, chieftain.' Sickle stumbled forward, awkward in his steps.

'Did you have any business to state, son of Loretor?'

'I only wanna request your permission to 'company Leila Lockharte and Ceril to the Silver Crescent. I want to protect my tribe too, ya know...uh, I mean _you_ know.' He shook his head. 'I meant, my chieftain.'

Gleril rested his hand on his cheek. 'Do you have brothers, or have you sired a son?'

'I ain't got no children, but my brother has plenty already,' Sickle answered.

The chieftain nodded. 'Fine, you may go. But you will make sure my daughter stays alive, is that understood.'

Sickle Ear raised his head high and proud. 'I will, chieftain.'

'Dismissed. Don't forget the vows you have spoken here. If broken, they are paid in trial by the Wild Hunt. Do you all understand this?'

If there was any tradition of the Greenpact Bosmer that I understood, it was the Wild Hunt. Something that anyone should not take lightly.

We met Milkar and Aranwen on the borders of Raw Tooth territory. My brother...in the days we've been away, his dream inched closer to realization. Teetering on the edge, the raven perched, the launch to heights unknown will be glorious.

With the death of his brother, Augoth woke to grave news and refused to speak much. He felt sorrow for how Torgoth passed, but he knew it was no one's fault but his. We tried... I tried. I wanted Torgoth to live and discover life outside of the Thieves of the Wood. Both he and Augoth could have done remarkable things for Valenwood, they could have gone down in history as heroes. But life doesn't always work that way, that is the only thing the divines have assured us. With the little words he awarded us, Augoth told me that he doesn't regret the loss of his enchantment abilities. His hands were so injured that they wouldn't be used for anything other than dressing himself. Almost all his flesh burned away, leaving nothing but the skeleton to the world.

But with the losses comes the gains. We gained new members to the Silver Crescents, new friends, and new siblings. Most importantly, new allies in this fight of ours.


	18. The Port City

_"Sure we defeated their leadership, but we honestly had no hand in it. The Thalmor had no use for them anymore. The dismantling of the Tam'Akar only meant the Aldmeri Dominion was ready for a war with the Empire."_

* * *

Chapter 18: The Port City

The death of Torgoth, and with Augoth unable to use his abilities any longer, the Thieves of the Wood held the advantage. A single sword, my sword, was all we had to fight against Monsotar's army of thieves and vagabonds, and a force of nightblade warrior-thieves with Thornbush enchanted weapons. There were powerful enchanted armor and weapons circulating around Valenwood, as with any province beholding to children of the magical arts, practitioners of the school of enchantment have sought to that. Although on hindsight, an enchanted weapon or piece of armor was common, out of any given piece of armor or weapon, only one out of the thousands would have an enchantment. And between enchanted weapons, so few surface still.

Southpoint was our next destination. By order of my "lord" brother. Torgoth was creating enchanted weapons like a bakery producing elk cakes. Flooding the province with swords and other sharp-ended weaponry that could level fields of mer. The Thornbush's abilities were god-like in respect to what it can be used for. Dangerous on all levels. It's that same ability that gave birth to my mother's legend—to her power. This has become a pull-and-play between three forces. The Tam'Akar who seek the secrets of Mother's _Ghost Bow_ , the Thieves of the Wood that seeks power, and the Silver Crescents, who only wants to end the collateral of their war. This was something we couldn't afford to lose. With Mother's power, the Aldmeri Dominion undoubtedly march on the rest of Tamriel. And Monsotar will create such a mass of power, all Nirn would bend the knee to him.

I rested on a coiling of lianas, the thickly wooded vines creating a cradle at the bottom of a towering willow. The slow, mesmerizing grinding of my Osseinium whetstone to iron-bark filled my ears. Twilight's Talon burned on its edges when its enchantment was activated, bolstering its sharpness, but every sword needs a good sharpening. This sword has pure power harnessed within it, breathing as if it were alive, calling to me hungrily. It burned cold, though, violet as if the fires from Oblivion brought it back to the forge of violet flames. Its hilt, a hard metal, harder than most—ebony metal, a cursed metal. But the blade was special, made from the wood of an extinct tree. I knew this sword to be special the first time I laid my emerald eyes on it. Special indeed, this was _my_ sword through and through. A sword born of the night.

'Anymore sharpening and you'd have to call the thing Twilight's Needle.' Aranwen broke me free of my trance. 'Southpoint is just down these cliffs.'

I toss-juggled my whetstone and pocketed it. Twilight's Talon usually stayed in it sheath underneath my cloak, strapped beside my bow. I kept it there for the safety of the people I love, still unsure of the depth of its power. The more I hear about Monsotar's Goldfire, the more I'm compelled to learn how to harness my own sword's power. Something inside of me, a little voice of conscience, tells me that this sword might be the only thing that could match the power of Monsotar.

Southpoint sat at the edge of Valenwood, cradled by a large gulf. What began as a fort, constructed by the Reman Empire, turn into a town and centuries later, a large bustling port city. The beach stretched on for leagues, and the waves of white, glass-dusted sand swelled in mounds all through the city streets. Palmpods towered high, and some were as short as a diminutive building, giving home and business someplace to hide from the blazing sun that rose over the distant cliffs of Elsweyr to the east. The sea breeze offered some solace, but it choked us with drying sent of salt and seaweed. A scent Elren was not used to living in the middle of the jungle where fresh water was always abundant, and the sweet earthen incense of dirt and plant was all that was needed.

The fort turned town turned city was, of course, like Arenthia in respect of its massive trade position. Although the furthest south our province stretched, this city held people and traditions from all over Tamriel. It's humble position as a post by the Imperial expanded into trade and so much more integration in later eras. Despite that, Southpoint sat in the shadow of a mighty Graht-Oak that migrated to the western tip of Grahtwood to live out the rest of its days.

This was a diplomatic job. Diplomatic in nature, I should say. No fighting, no stealing, nothing of that sort, which was why Aranwen was leading it. Although my brother refused to take much of anything seriously, he could calm Hircine's mightiest predator with his words, and trick Ban Daar at his own games. I trust him to get the job done.

We approached the gates of Southpoint on the east side of the city. An Imperial style gate stretched a few hundred feet on either side into the forest. The thickness of the palms made it difficult to believe this was a gate and not a barrier rather. We Bosmer loved to use the natural barriers our forests provide to protect cities and town, rather than build like humans and Khajiit. Although the Khajiit does a better job at preserving their Natura.

'The leader of the Copper Drakes and I go back to my days as a youngling,' Aranwen wiped a few strands of hair from his eyes. 'He was good friends with my own master.'

'I often forget that you didn't train under Tutor Rollyn like Milkar and me.'

Aranwen shook his head. 'Don't think father thought I had the same potential as you and Milly.' He shrugged. 'Arian the Brave, a man of impeccable taste. Braver than any, people say.' Aranwen's head bowed with a pained grin. 'At least, that's what they _used_ to say. I still don't want to believe the rumors. My master would never run away from a fight; no one could ever put fear in his heart.'

Aranwen frowned slightly. The roomers spoke different truths than the legend. 'Maybe,' I started, trying to bring solace to my brother's discomfort, 'maybe, the Coppers could help us locate him.'

Aranwen wagged his finger, switching moods faster than he could switch hand placements on a pair of blades. 'We're here for one thing and one thing only.' He pointed at the gate. 'Well, three things… but one job.'

'Fatrigar of the Honey Tongue,' I said slowly. 'Leader of the Copper Drakes.'

'Yes.' Aranwen chuckled and began searching the area. 'There was supposed to be someone to meet us right around…'

'Here?'

A girl about five years my senior and only a year Aranwen's junior pulled up behind us. She was a lithe thing, strapped with sinew and skin tanned to a crispy brown. The darker skin tone suited her well—thick hair reaching midback, as wavy as the open ocean and the color of a cattail. She wore the garb of a merchant, a plain green tunic with a few pockets on each side tucked into a pair of standard tight capris, and padded leather sandals that revealed perfectly tempered toenails painted black. She had a hard face, this one. To me, she seemed angry in her dark features, but still a beauteous woman. Not the sort of adorable mask Ceril wore, but still the type. Three others in similar attire backed her up.

'You must be the Copper Drakes.' Aranwen approached her.h

'My _father_ is the Copper Drakes, I'm only helping the fat bugger out until he is well again.' She turned from Aranwen and looked at me. 'What the fuck are you looking at?'

'I—' I started.

'Gwendalyn?' Aranwen exclaimed in delight. There was nothing delightful about this girl. 'Gwendalyn! I knew that was you! How in Dibella's oiled bosom are you?' Aranwen took a step back to view Gwendalyn fully. She was two heads shorter than him and half a head shorter than me. He took in a whole eyeful before raising an eyebrow. 'You've grown.'

'That's Gwendalyn of the Fire Tongue to you short stuff, and yes… I guess you aren't as ugly as you were back then. I may even say you're pretty good looking now.' She punched Aranwen's arm lightly.

'It's been years,' Aranwen pointed out, nodding.

'You're here, but who's them?' She pointed at Elren and me.

'That's my little sister, Leila of the Please Don't Hassle Her Tongue, and Elren of the Silent Tongue.' Aranwen chuckled. 'He doesn't talk much, and she will cut your tongue if you talk too much.'

Gwendalyn snorted. 'They seem tough!'

'Mhm. Mhm. Mhm.' Aranwen agreed, nodding. 'They are… say, what's this about Fatrigar being ill?'

Gwendalyn beckoned for us to follow and we did. Down in the streets of Southpoint, no inch of ground wasn't covered in sand from the beaches. Whatever attempt to lay stone down, was devoured by thin layers of trampled moss and covered with sand. The people here were as mixed as Arenthia. Only instead of Imperials, Khajiit, and Bosmer, there were more Altmer, Argonians, and a wider variety of Khajiit.

'Pa has been sick for a while now, there isn't much time for him. Got bit by a venomfang coming from someplace called Riften up north in Skyrim. Must've snuck on the ship.'

'He didn't speak to a healer? Or even an alchemist at least?'

'Healers said he got unlucky this time around. Nothing they could give him worked. Not only was he poisoned by the damned thing, but the old ass contracted the shakes.'

'The shakes?' I asked.

'Collywobbles,' she answered.

Aranwen winced. 'Poor Fatrigar. And I suppose you're going to take over for him?'

'The black void I am! I don't want to be stuck leading, it's just not for me.' Gwendalyn shook her head violently. 'See these three glob heads?' She chucked her head backward towards her three companions. 'We're looking for a new home.'

'Fatrigar will be disappointed, Gwendalyn. He's taking his last breaths, and I'm sure he'll love an heir to replace him when he's gone.' Aranwen sounded a bit more serious.

'It's just not my cup of spoiled milk, Aranwen. You know that. It's the reason why I never joined with the Copper Drakes in the first place. I'm not the pirate type, I'm a merchant-thief through and through.'

Aranwen bolstered a long laugh. 'Your father was a merchant too, you know? And the Copper Drakes? It's the remnants of a Merchant's Guild.'

'Yeah, yeah, and Pa's old friends turned on him, robbed him blind, and left him for dead. I've heard the story. But I'm going to fence. It's what I'm good at—making money off stolen goods. Ain't that right boys?' That got a rise out of her friends.

We arrived at Southpoint's massive network of docks. The city alone was amazing, with its dozens of streets worth of Willowpod and Palmpod repositories. But the port city's finest asset was the massive dockage of ships this part of Tamriel has ever seen. Wooden platforms stretched from the land into the Gulf far and wide, twisting and turning, and making deliberate stops where massive ships roped onto their ledges. Planks fell from a dozen feet high where bows towered above. The ocean breeze tugged at the hinges of sails and rocked the things into a creaking song. The smell of salt, rotted wood, and fish dried my tongue but roused my senses further. The world was so clear here. Argonian ship workers and labormen scurried around tightening or loosening ropes, hauling nets or cutting them if they were tangled, sitting around slurping fish guts if they were on their break, and stirring the waves underneath as they dived into the depths.

To the west, outlined black on the horizon was Haven's equally impressive port. But Southpoint was much larger. Haven was nearly fifteen leagues away, but with such clarity, you can see its hinges.

The docks were infested with mudcrabs, ship rats, and skeevers. A small mudcrab tried to breach Elren's pants, but Elren kicked the creature in the air and caught it safely between index and thumb. Its pincers reached for him, but Elren slowly squeezed a point between its left legs. The crab calmed from a wriggling, angry mess to a lull. He placed it back on the ground, allowing it to slowly laterigrade away.

We came upon a massive ship with four towering square-rigged masts. Each mast supported a linen square as thick as my arms and was the color of a shiny, polished copper, they captured wind better than any seabird crying above our heads.

'A dragon,' Elren said as we approached the gangplank.

'A drake.' I shrugged and nodded towards the bow.

The skinny head of a drake embedded into the wood gave the ship a draconic visage. The head of the drake was a mean serpent of sharp carved teeth worn down by years of seawater battering against it. Barnacles and wood rot stretched from the jaws into the mouth and covered the eyes. Still, the form of the drake held perfectly. 'Ban Daar guide me, Mallick, are you drunk again?' Gwendalyn roared as we boarded. 'Tell me you're not drunk again.'

'I is drunk again.'

Gwendalyn sighed. She pushed the plank guard aside and beckoned us to follow. 'Right this way.'

'A lot of familiar faces. Not much has changed.' Aranwen pointed out.

'How do you two know each other anyway?' I asked. 'You seem to have a good history.'

'When you travel as much as Arian and I did, you tend to meet a plethora of amazing people.' Aranwen chuckled. 'Anyway, Father requested that Arian the Brave train me. A renowned warrior of the Elder Guard, the tenth Gilden Seat—we traveled far and wide, we did. As an Elder Guard, Arian was sent to different regions of the Aldmer Dominion with me biting at his tail like a wild puppy.'

'Okay, I guess you were cute then too.' Gwendalyn interjected.

Aranwen scowled playfully at the mer. 'Arian and I met Fatrigar on one of our adventures. And many more after that. Those were the days, weren't they?'

Gwendalyn nodded. 'They were.'

'Since then, Fatrigar and little Gwendalyn have been close friends.'

'Arian disappeared. Some say into the darkness of Valenwood.' Elren said. It was the first couple of words he strung into a sentence all day.

'I don't want to believe those rumors,' Aranwen said, rubbing annoyingly at his chin.

'Damn those rumors, it just doesn't seem right,' Gwendalyn added.

Arian of the Elder Guard was known as the bravest warrior in all Valenwood. There was no challenge he would back down from, no fight he wouldn't see through. His story is a story of pure courage and commitment. But one day that ended. Some speculate that an Altmer of the Thalmor upper echelon burned Arian's mind and made him a coward. I didn't have a clue what to believe, conjecture or what's evidenced. Arian disappeared, and no one knew why or where he was hiding. He could be dead but speaking such worry into the world seemed wrong.

The inside of the ship was just as lavish as the outside of the ship. Under the deck, was a network of corridors for the crew's rooms and many storage closets, underneath, in the hull, was where all the goods were kept. We stepped into the captain's cabin in the quarterdeck and stood beside double doors. Gwendalyn opened them slowly, and we slipped inside.

Laying on a king's bed was Fatrigar, whom, I must say, didn't look as bad as I thought.

'Only ten years into pirating and you're already dying a slow and painful death. Good thing it isn't your guts pickling from all the rum you drink, right old friend?' Aranwen stepped beside Fatrigar's bedside.

Slowly, but surely, the Honey-Tongue opened his eyes and turned his head towards Aranwen. A tight, pained smile fit over his lips. 'Anny Boy is that you?' His voice was a smooth as milk, and despite the scars of old age left by the passage of time and disease, he was handsome. At my age, it would suffice to say that he was pretty.

'Uh,' Aranwen glanced back at Elren and me before chuckling, 'yeah, it's me alright.'

Fatrigar grabbed my brother on the forearm and held tight enough to warp his vambrace. 'You've grown thick and strong, Anny Boy! Ho, ho. Look at you!'

'You're full of energy,' Aranwen said, rubbing his wrist.

'Disease has not claimed my body yet, Aranwen. The end of ol' Honey-Tongue has time yet to wait.' Fatrigar sat up in his bed, flinching slightly. 'Alas, though, I must admit, it surely is lamentable how I'm going to go out.'

They both took some time to bask in a moment of ephemerality. Both gave their inner reproval of mortality and life through the locking of eyes and sorrowful grins.

'I called you here—and here you are. How have you been, Anny Boy?'

'I have been well.' Aranwen stepped to the side revealing us. 'My little sister and a member of our new guild are here as well—the best of the best.'

'So, it's true, eh? The children of Ara Lockharte turned to the dark.' Fatrigar chuckled.

'We are well, Fatrigar, but Valenwood isn't. You of all people know that well enough.' Aranwen kneeled beside his old friend. 'Milkar has created the Silver Crescents, a team of operatives taking on the corruption in our home.'

Fatrigar nodded and patted Aranwen on the head. That earned a laugh from Gwendalyn. 'I'm proud of you, Anny Boy. So very proud. But there is much to discuss, and I don't have a lot of time. You're going to need a seat for this.' Fatrigar patted the side of his bed, allowing Aranwen to sit up.

'Aranwen, how long has it been since Arian disappeared?'

'Six…' Aranwen began folding his fingers, '…no, seven years?'

Fatrigar nodded slowly, the fatigue rolling down his sunken eyes onto his checks and a rounded jaw. 'Seven years, Anny Boy. Seven long years without the mer you considered a father.'

'And you like my uncle, Fatrigar.' Aranwen's voice cracked. 'We're here…we're here to talk about something entirely different, not Arian.'

'What you want to discuss has everything to do with Arian.'

'What are you talking about?'

Fatrigar balled a fist of his sheets as if what he was about to say caused him physical pain. 'I called you here specifically because of who we're worried about. A moon cycle ago, word came out about the death of Torgoth through the grapevine. And that his arsenal abruptly stopped circulation. You know what I am in possession of, Aranwen.'

'The swords of Eplear.' Aranwen scratched the stubble over his chin. 'All three.'

Fatrigar nodded. 'All three.'

'Eplear? King Eplear? I asked. 'You mean, the first Camoran king, King Eplear?'

'The one,' Gwendalyn answered.

I glanced back at Elren who had no apparent reaction.

Aranwen raised his hand to quiet me before more questions spouted from my tongue. 'What does this have to do with my master? How is he involved?'

Fatrigar sigh. 'My dear Anny Boy, you mustn't garner your anger when I tell you this. Search your emotions with a clear mind and do not do anything rash.'

'I will, Fatrigar. I promise… please.'

'Monsotar wants his swords back… and…'

'And?'

'He sent one of his Crows to collect them. Of course, I didn't give them to him. They're kept safe and away from him, but it was _who_ he sent, Anny Boy. Your master never disappeared—he joined the Thieves of the Wood.'

The air around Aranwen grew cold with shock. He curled around himself like taking a blow to the gut. 'That can't be, it's impossible. We would have—we would have known. Milkar knows these things.'

'I thought he _did_ know. Your brother hoarded a plethora of information about the Woods.'

'My brother _would've_ known! And Esmond…he—you knew and didn't tell me?'

'I didn't know until Arian himself arrived on the other end of my gangplank asking for those swords himself. I refused him, Anny Boy. But he warned me—a threat.' Fatrigar winced the memory flashed over his eyes. I could tell, despite the disease, he too was in much pain over the betrayal of their friend.

Aranwen shook his head profusely and pointing a finger at Fatrigar. 'No. No… I can't believe that. Your words have soured over the years, Honey-Tongue. It's rotting with the rest of your body.'

'Watch yourself, Aranwen. Before I show you what _my_ master taught me.'

Aranwen coiled back holding both hands to his head. Something in me tightened, wishing I didn't have to see my brother in such pain and regret. 'No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.

'This pain takes a while to set, Anny Boy.' He waved his daughter off. 'Settle down, the both of you.'

Gwendalyn's hard but beautiful face softened, and she placed a hand on Aranwen's shoulder. 'We can hunt him down; we will ask him what happened, Aranwen.'

'You sold him his first Akiviri katana,' Aranwen said. 'He taught me to master many of their techniques and styles. Why would he join the Thieves of the Wood?'

Silence dabbled in the room, festering the depression and grief. As individual children, we all felt as if Father garnered more love for the other, but the truth was, Faeden looked at us as prospects to exploit in political gain. He shaped Milkar's cunning to become a leader, a political conglomerate to take the reins of his delegation. And I was Ara's replacement, the hero that was supposed to be the symbol of Valenwood's strength. The poor middle child, whom could not be either, given to a soldier of the army to train and mold to what he can. Aranwen was undoubtedly strong, someone who fell into his potential late, but a vast potential it was, sought too late by our father. Neither Milkar nor I was as fast as Aranwen naturally, or as precise a fighter.

We were all just pockets of potential, Milkar, Aranwen, and I, and we were all exploited in ways that would benefit both Father and ourselves. However, at the cost of our meranity, freedom, and individuality.

'He must have his reasons.' The answer came from Elren, and it dangled in the air like a looming fume. Elren, who had more reason than all of us combined to hate the Thieves of the Wood and the Tam'Akar, and yet, he sported around the realm of forgiveness.

Elren's own uncle helped Monsotar give up the location of his tribe to the Tam'Akar, it landed him in Monsotar's closest circle, and his entire tribe annihilated. I shook my head. 'There are no excuses for something so horrible.'

Elren glanced up, a single eyebrow raised. An expression of challenging beliefs. I didn't feel mine were wrong, despite his easy heart, mine wasn't so forgiving. Rindiel was going to die, either by Elren or me, but his life was going to end. I looked away from Elren shamelessly and at my kneeled brother. We're children still, and yet we've burdened ourselves with the province's troubles. Even if they were troubles some others didn't see. Something tremendously terrible was happening in Valenwood, and we were the ones to step up while others coward and walked to the other side.

'We'll figure something out,' Aranwen said and waved us out.

I turned to leave, and Elren followed.

I could feel Elren's eyes drilling holes in the back of my skull. Those eyes I loved so much, innocent but stained, experienced. I loved him. The first time I met him, something in me clicked. I didn't know what love was, but something in me sprouted in the darkness of my heart, something in me loved Elren.

'The road to the Void is paved with good intentions,' Elren whispered, softly.

'Hate will keep you alive where love fails, Elren. You'll do well to remember.' I told him. We made our way back to the quarterdeck.

'And why do you hate?' More whispering, more quiet talking.

I remembered the days of being forced to train, forced to wake up and practice with the bow, sword, and everything in between. I was forced to fight from a young age, to learn how to take another life. It was easier to project the bitterness onto other people's problems and call it a duty to the world of Nirn that I must fight the evilness in it. This was all just a projection of a childhood tantrum that I've been throwing for years no. A rebellion. That was easier.

The biggest lies we save for ourselves.

* * *

'He won't give us the swords.' Aranwen placed three golds and four silvers on the counter, and the innkeeper swooped them up with a large hand. 'We're to use them to lure Arian out first.'

'You're really going to go through with that?' Aranwen having to face Arian just didn't sit right with me.

'What choice do we have? He's around here, in Southpoint, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.' Aranwen sighed. 'For the first time, I don't know what my master is thinking. He wasn't too kind of an elf, but he wasn't bad either. A killer in all respects, an Elder Guard that, before retiring, served sixty years in the Ranger Guard, and forty of those years as the tenth Gilden Seat. To think he threw all that away and more.'

'He severed his bonds.' Elren folded his arms.

Aranwen led us to our room and pushed the door open. 'Severed? He tied them around his neck.'

'What will you do?' I asked him.

'I'll have your supper prepared with the cook.' Aranwen looked back down the hall. 'In the meantime, settle down. We'll probably be in Southpoint for a few days until this is all settled.'

Aranwen turned down the hall, and the air of despair wafted around him like a body odor's stench. 'Aranwen,' I called.

He stopped and turned. 'Yes, Leila?'

'We'll get down to this, and as usual, we'll handle it.'

A gentle smile flittered on Aranwen's face. 'Just don't go destroying the city, okay?' He winked and closed the door behind him.

I clanked down onto the single bed and chuckled to myself. 'No guarantees.'

Elren drew a thick, brown bearskin roll from the closet and began spreading it justly over the ground. I watched him, but he didn't notice my eyes following his every move. I freed my wrist of my vambraces and my feet of my foot wrappings. My breast bounced back in place, freed from being weighed down by my chest plate, and my shin guards thumped heavily to the floor. It was only when I crawled under the bed sheets did he finally spare a glance my way. There were many times where I've undressed in front of Elren, and he never minded the sight of a naked body. The wild Bosmer of Valenwood was an open people full of naturality—nudity was not shameful in such a culture. But ever since the day he kissed me, things have been different between the two of us. We tried to pretend our relationship has remained the same, but there wasn't any avoiding these feelings.

'What are you doing?' I asked, finally.

'Getting some rest,' he said.

'Down there?'

'Where else am I supposed to sleep?' Elren looked around with an eyebrow raised and a twisted frown.

I swallowed hard. 'In the bed, of course.'

Elren waved the notion away, dismissing it as nonsense. 'Where would you sleep?'

'In the bed.'

Elren's already puzzlement became disorientation. 'What—'

'With me? Like… next to me—at the same time!'

He shrugged. 'If you say so.'

I pulled the sheets apart and watched as Elren slipped in underneath. He sighed with a grin and snuggled in tight. The warmth of his body bristled against my skin, and I closed the small gap he left between us. Our bodies touched, but there was no apparent reaction found with him. 'See? Isn't this better than the hard floor?'

Elren nodded, and I gave him a smile. 'You're warm,' he muttered.

'It's cause I'm not dead.'

'Right.'

I understood, even at this young age, that this world was full of hate. Elren was like the rest of us: alone and starved of love. From the outside in, it seems like we're strong. They see our backs stand straight, our eyes looking forward, and the gravitas around us. But the worst part about being strong is that no one ever asks if you're okay.

'You know,' I whispered softly. 'The same goes for you. We'll find the rest of your tribe, we'll save them, Elren. Like usual, we'll handle it.'

Elren smiled and closed his eyes as if my words made it safe to do so. 'Thank you, Leila.'

That's when he turned his head and let his brown eyes meet my emerald and placed his lips against mine.


	19. The Dishonored

_A Bosmer is labeled a prodigy. He becomes a Ranger in the Ranger Guard. He promotes fast, accomplishes every mission, and astonishes all his peers. He believes himself to be good, great even._

 _But he is nothing compared to the Elder Guard_.

* * *

Chapter 19: The Dishonored

I exploded down the hall and into the main chamber of the inn. Chaos ensued at all corners, livening up what would otherwise be a dead place. A loud scream shrieked across my ears as a man set ablaze flailed wildly, the licking flames actively boiling away his skin before eating into his flesh. On another side, a she-mer crawled on all fours, trying to desperately reach the other side away from the flames that spread across the western end of the inn, there were bodies already cooked. Likely being the poor souls that took the brunt of the explosion. Another Bosmer lay dead at my feet, his forearms missing. I recognized him as part of Gwendalyn's posse.

By the entrance, Elren slammed his foot into the door, blasting it open in an eruption of dried root and clayleaf. Night had fallen outside, but there was something devious out there, I felt it. As the flaming mer made his last yard, I struck my sword deep in his chest, skewering him. It didn't serve any purpose to allow him to burn down the rest of the inn and kill others in his agonized death. I pushed his body to the blackened area, where he could burn but not burn anything else.

'If you don't want to see yourself like these poor folk, leave.'

A crowd of people scrambled towards the door, filtering out to the fresh air, coughing and screaming. I tightened my grip around my sword and followed. I entered the stage just as it happened. A quick lunge to end a life, precise…calculative. Another of Gwendalyn's posse fell dead; a blood-spurting hole left through his heart. Gwendalyn herself was wielding a strange, skinny blade. Similar to Aranwen's Akiviri Tanto blades but longer. Masser

Masser's red moonlight glimmered down its box end simmering hot with heat.

Gwendalyn's sleek body moved like a blur across the night's shade; sand kicked in her wake. A glowing orb of flames curled toward her, but her blade cleaved the destruction magic in half, sending the halves dispersing on either side of the street. The enemy's fire magic already seared her armor and left it in tatters, leaving some of her parts exposed. Her opponent's sword flicked upward, a motion so swift and precise, it was almost as if it never connected at all. Gwendalyn clashed in a cloud of dust and sand, clasping her shoulder.

'It didn't have to go this way.' The man that put her down was tall, well-built with considerable size. His entire face was obscured with a face mask.

'I'm going to fucking kill you,' Gwendalyn coughed. Any attempt at standing was quickly stamped out by a kick to the chest.

'I'm sorry about this,' the masked warrior apologized. 'I truly am—this is the only way.'

He raised his sword high, Elren and I were too far to stop him before he could deliver the finishing blow. I was too far; too slow. Gwendalyn was going to die. We needed luck, someone to stop him. Despite her initial brevity, the fear in her eyes burned a cold flare.

A fire rose through me, or rather through my sword gripped in my hands. Something building, then receding, like the slow rise of a breathing lung. I turned my sword over to view the flat of it—two runes alight with a ghastly glow. Like a lightning strike, I lunged Twilight's Talon forward, relinquishing the burning from within. Remembering my brother's words, I pulled my arm back, but the sword's enchantment already did its work. A clear bubble of heat and energy surged forth, covering Gwendalyn with a ward of crystalized magicka. The satisfaction not knowing what you're doing but working it out anyway was always sweet. Twilight's Talon's magicka was something of a ghostly sought that mythical fog that gathers around the presence of dead mer added with that ethereal to fire and coldness of the void.

The ward was enough to deflect the attacker's blade, deflecting it as if he smacked against a nice, hard block of Yokudan marble. From behind his mask, our new friend watched me with a concentrated intensity.

I shrugged at Gwendalyn's assailant. 'I slipped.'

Without the burden of armor, I was fast. Not Aranwen fast, but fast enough to reach him before he could strike again.

'This doesn't concern you,' he said—a deep raunchy voice full of grate and angst.

'It doesn't,' I said. 'But it does concern him.' I nodded towards his back.

Even if one were to face Aranwen, you would lose your head before you realized the fight started. I've never actually seen my brother fight in any capacity, always smiles and laughs from him, but to hear the praise they gave him: "Aranwen's too fast… He moves as if he doesn't weigh a thing. Aranwen the Swift. Deadly quick that one..." I've always thought my brother to be the fastest I've ever seen a mer move… well until now.

I didn't see the knife spiraling for my neck, but I didn't need to, that jolt of force, the moment splitting muscle tension in his free hand told the tale of death by flying steel. I only moved just in time for my shoulder to catch it. A moment later two bodies collided, their blades flaring sparks like magic in a festival's night sky. No one should be able to move like these two. All blurry lines, whizzing air, and metal songs. Aranwen's blade moved lightning fast against Arian's Dai-Katana. I took the opportunity to get Gwendalyn back to safety as Elren sought to evacuate the remaining patrons from the tavern as fires burned the place down

Finally, when the two gained a moment to separate, they glared into each other's eyes. Their intensity matched one another. This was the time, folks. When the elation of adrenaline spills into your blood; when the world slows down and when Auriel's own heartbeat stops time. This was the moment—the moment when revenge is the sweetest, and the hatred feels good. Cherish it, my brother, but never allow it to consume you.

That glare was what I knew all too well.

'How could you?' Aranwen asked, his voice deep, guttural, commanding.

'Anny Boy.' Arian said simply, tearing the face mask from his mouth. 'I—' Arian shook his head. 'I don't think you would understand.'

'I won't understand? You were a hero, Arian. You were my master! Why did I have to discover that you're nothing but a scum cretin? A damned Crow?'

Arian's face hardened. 'It is a means to an end, Aranwen. A necessity. I have seen things—horrible things to come for Tamriel. I won't let it come to fruition.'

'What?' Aranwen shook his damn near violently. 'What is this you speak of? Because all I see is a mer turned to the dark side, and an honor rotted away like filth.'

'You've done it, haven't you? Created a band that will change Valenwood for the better?' Arian broke his intensity in favor of reminiscing. 'All those years ago, when we both used to dream. The Silver Crescents. A good name. A futile effort. It'll take years before you are anything of substance, decades even. But with Monsotar—we have the resources we need, and with just a little more power, we can finally face the plague that will wash over Valenwood and ultimately Tamriel. You know what I speak of.'

'Please…remind me.' Aranwen growled.

'The Tam'Akar.'

'Once the people start trusting the Silver Crescents, the Tam'Akar will no longer be able to operate without the risk of being exposed. My brother will show the world what they've done.'

'You think I speak of Aridiil?' Arian almost looked insulted. Disappointed, even. 'Aridiil is merely a foot soldier compared to the horror gathering across the Blue Divide. It may not happen today or tomorrow or a decade from now, but that Altmer will come and he'll be the destruction of Valenwood.'

'You're an Elder Guardian, a superior warrior. Take up your quiver, beseech the Battlereeve, call your _Bow_ to arms. You didn't do anything of that.' Aranwen spat at Arian's feet. 'You have no excuse.'

'You're so naïve, Aranwen. And it is that nativity that will get you hurt by Monsotar—you look at the stars and not the sky. Think of your little sister and leave Monsotar alone. He isn't someone you can just fight and destroy; he is much more than that. He's an idea; an idea needs to be met with another idea. No one I've come across has had a better solution to the problems we face, and what we will face in the time to come. Fatrigar holds weapons of power that can boost Monsotar's efforts to thwart the Tam'Akar, and yet, he holds them to himself. He is the real threat to Valenwood. And others like him that see him as an enemy and not the one capable enough to save us.'

Aranwen's hands trembled, the veins in his forearms bulged like blue snakes underneath the layers of skin. His eyes were so intense with hatred; I could see his pupils contract into fine points. 'You…were like a father to me. Now… you're nothing.'

'That's fine. My only duty is to Valenwood.' Arian pointed the tip of his sword towards Aranwen.

The two clashed swords again. Aranwen went high for the Bosmer's head. My brother moved with the precision a battle surgeon would use with a needle, or a calligrapher and his pen. But it was clear to me Arian was the better. In a matter of moments, Arian started to pressure Aranwen. Flicking his sword as if it were a wing to a beetle, too fast to see. Aranwen flailed his arms, not in the random way someone does during a fall from the high cliffs, but a precise block and parry storm of steel.

What was it that called to me? The ghost within my sword, or the lust for battle within my heart? I wanted to steal Aranwen's revenge, to kill Arian and throw his head at my brother's feet. I saw Aranwen as bigger than this, better. He shouldn't have to sully his hands with this. He shouldn't have the need.

I threw Gwendalyn's arm over my shoulders and braced her against the stability of my body. She was incredibly light. When I dropped her off at a safe spot, Elren stumbled out of the burning tavern with his face masked with a scarf, the Bosmer heaved in a rag as the smoke wrapped his lungs. At that same moment, a groveling boom exploded into my ears, tearing me from Elren towards the fight with Arian and my brother. My brother held a defensive position, his feet scraping against the sand, but the force was throwing him. It wasn't until a wall of sandstone stopped his progress. Aranwen blasted back, smashing into the sandstone wall which exploded in a thousand pieces. Tears and striation traveled up the length, bringing it to a crumbling state. Aranwen lay unconscious covered in sand, dust, and debris, his swords at his side.

I didn't allow myself to think, I just rushed. It's something I do; something Tutor Rollyn have always warned me against. Always have a plan. Sometimes plans don't save people, sometimes your body just reacts. If I was a rational person, I wouldn't be in Southpoint collecting enchanted weapons strong enough to burn down my own province.

Twilight's Talon slipped across Arian's blade, blasting his arm backward. A fine parry with good force. I'm always at my best in battle. The Elder Guardian watched me closely as he lowered his sword to his side.

'The Lockharte runt,' he said, smiling. It wasn't a sinister smile; he had a pleasant look about him.

Arian was taller up close with a pointed nose under two close drawn eyes that gave him the face of a goblin. From afar, I thought his head was full of short hair, but upon closer inspection, that stubble was all tattoos in the low light of a firelit night. Even as the Bosmer paced, tracing a circle, there was not one opening to exploit. 'Arian the Brave, eh?' I said, keeping my body squared with his, the soles of my feet pressing into the sand softly. 'I haven't heard much about you tenth seat. Only that you're supposedly the bravest Valenwood has to offer.'

'And I've heard of you, of course. Last child of Ara High-Arrow—the one that killed the _Ghost Flame_ wielder in childbirth. I heard what you did to the Altmer in Arenthia; that was ruthless, dangerous. Destroying a city square just to attain your goals is no different than what I'm doing here.'

'That was almost a year ago,' I told him. 'It's been a long time since then, and trust me, I've improved with this sword of mine.'

Arian chuckled. 'Do tell. Have you improved enough to destroy Aridiil?'

I bit my lip at that. 'Doesn't matter. You are my opponent tonight.'

'If that sword holds such power, perhaps your little band of child misfits does have some warrant to this fight. But I don't think it's enough. It's too early for you all. Just allow Monsotar to garner his forces; allow him to defeat Lord Nethilvere.'

'Let's not make this about me, Arian the Brave. Such an epithet, that one. You don't deserve it! Anyone who would abandon their morality is a coward and doesn't get to be called brave or courageous. So, from here on out, you shall be known as Arian the Coward, the tenth Gilden seat of the Elder Guard who died at the hands of the Black Raven.'

'Call me what you will, but you won't get to say I failed this land!'

Arian charged in like a blur of meat and steel. I almost didn't react fast enough. I brought my blade up just in time to divert his, but I didn't think a proper counter would come so quick. I was wrong. A fist followed, deep to my rib, sending me back at least ten paces. A slash for my face was next, but Twilight's Talon sought to my protection. A blaring ward covered me, allowing Arian's Dai-Katana to bounce right off. I grasped that opportunity to muster enough anger and thrust in the sword towards his heart, open to the world. Arian had other plans and somersaulted over my blade. Too nimble, too quick, that one. Pushing into the ground with my sword, I tossed myself up and followed through with a downward slash, pushing his sword down with mine, then I elbowed him in the bridge of his nose sending him reeling back but only for a short moment.

I twisted my footing, garnering power in my sword and filling its needs and desires with my will and drove it toward Arian. He tipped back, allowing my sword to clear pass just the slight edge of his nose. I watched for a counter from his sword, but none came. Instead, he lifted his free hand and gathered a _Fire Blast_ at the center of his palm. The flames came licking about me with red tongues, but they didn't hurt. In fact, they didn't touch me at all.

I smiled my most winning smile. The look on Arian's face wouldn't cost the world of Septims or Drakes.

'That sword…' Arian huffed. 'I'm wasting time here.' He spoke more to himself than anyone else. 'Stand aside, Raven. I can't play games with you anymore.'

'Games?' I inquired. 'The only game we'll play is pin your head on the pike.'

I activated the enchantment far too late. Arian's swiftness was more or less supernatural. An innate magical ability that pushed magicka through his bloodstream to augment speed and strength…or something like that. His Dai-Katana bit into me, from shoulder to breast, like carving a pie. I fell with a gasp, the fires of Oblivion calling to me.

Arian was gone before I fell to my knees, Twilight's Talon on the ground, shimmering with low, violet half-light. So much blood pooled around me. I fumbled through a pocket numbingly searching for a spare potion. It might save my life, but to heal a wound this bad, I was going to need a healer. I cursed my father for not sending me to a master of magical arts instead of a master that couldn't teach me to block any attack. My left arm fell limp, betraying any command, the blood drained from it.

Ellen landed at my side, potion already in hand. 'Don't worry about me,' I told him. 'Go after Arian.'

'Aranwen already has,' Elren said. His voice so soft, so reassuring. 'Here.' He tipped the vial down my throat, and I drank in big gulps.

I felt the veins, and capillaries mend together. The muscle and flesh tightened about my shoulder, and the bleeding stopped. He took mine and did the same. Not much changed. The bleeding fell to a trickle, but my energy was sapped, my consciousness fading away.

'Move. Move. Move.' Gwendalyn pushed Elren aside and dropped beside me. 'You are either really brave or just plain stupid. Doing battle with an Elder Guardian? I don't care whose child you are, that was plain o' mad.'

She straightened my arms down my sides and lightning shot through it in jolts. It took everything to prevent myself from scream. 'But, you're tough,' she continued, 'and extremely skilled. You lasted longer than I did against him. Here—stay still.'

Healing magicka spilled into my body in waves of warmth and vitality. My composure returned, the feeling in my arms. I might have lost enough blood to die, but now I was alive. Gwendalyn's hands emitted a golden light, and it weaved through my body, and through the smallest stuff that made me and the world, and what connected us with the stars. She coughed life into me.

The culmination of power comes down to how you use it. Monsotar hosted an army, and he used the resources such a force provides to further a veiled goal. Help Valenwood, destroy its traditions. Destroy Valenwood, save himself. Do we all want the same thing? It seems like it, but how we do it is all that matters. I cannot foresee the corruption of my brother's vision, so I am left to stand at his side and bring his dream to fruition. But I can see that people will not stand to see him rise.

My brothers were fallible. They failed as anyone would flawed by paradoxes as we all are—but they cannot afford to be outed as such. They must be the perfect tree, shimmering in the sun's light. But every tree has its roots about them, pushing them further up into the world.

Arian has taken that stance with Monsotar and his Thieves of the Wood. What difference was it that I stood with Milkar? We hurt and broke the system, killed and destroyed any who stood in our way. We garner power through strength. Outside in, discerning one root from the next would be difficult because we were so similar.

'We should hurry,' I said.

'Why?' Gwendalyn asked, still applying her magic to my wounds.

'Because if we don't, Arian is going to kill Fatrigar. A man like him would stop at nothing to achieve his goals—to make sure Monsotar get those swords.'

Gwendalyn bit her lip, her eyes widening slightly. 'Fatrigar is his oldest friend. They grew up together. He wouldn't kill him.'

I shook my head slowly. 'He would, Gwendalyn. He would, and he will. That's—'

'Why are you saying those things?' Gwendalyn snapped. She looked back at her dead friends; three men died in a flashing by Arian's blade. She knew. 'He just didn't recognize me, that's all. I wasn't around for his return…'

'Gwendalyn…'

Her eyes began to well with tears. 'How would you know?'

'She knows,' Elren said. 'She knows because it's what she would do for Milkar.'


	20. Sinking Ship

_"I don't think Monsotar realized how quickly we grew as a band of criminals and as individuals. We are the children of Ara of the Ghost Bow. Harnessing power was in our blood." -Leila Lockhart - Sister Of Thieves_

* * *

Chapter 20: Sinking Ship

We crossed the vast expanse of dockage, feet thumping against the seawater and moss slick wood. Nothing stood in our way, not a mudcrab, not a skeever. It has occurred to me that those most exposed to the underground world of Valenwood have the most unfortunate fates. Tragic stories that have produced such mangled souls in the center of the darkness that shrouds the machinations of governing. We are all part of something bigger, every one of us. We're merely planks of wood of a ship crossing over sea and ocean. Unable to know who turns the rudder and who flips the sail.

'You should let your brother handle Arian. He's too strong for us.' Elren looked up at me as the Copper Drake's ship form silhouetted in the night's fog.

'Didn't you hear what Milkar said before? We have potential. Every challenge this life has given us we've risen and overcome it.'

'It's been nothing but bloodshed. You're going to get yourself or someone else killed. No more fighting, Leila.'

I skidded to a halt. 'And then what? Let our enemies kill us? Kill innocents? Kill the Silver Crescents' dream?'

'There's no dream if we become what we fight. It isn't worth it.'

'You're weak,' I barked. 'You allowed Rindiel to sell your clan to the Tam'Akar, and yet he still lives.'

'You once told me to think about the bigger image. You won't be killing a Crow, but an Elder Guardian.' Elren shoved me back. 'No killing!'

'That is why I'm here! You think Milkar wanted around to play some harmonious thief? Set the balance? Set the scale?' I gritted my teeth and fought back the tears. The truth hits harder when it comes to you naturally. 'No! He knew just as much as I did what my role in the Silver Crescents would be. I was never meant to share some glorious heroic notoriety, changing the world where people like Monsotar and Aridiil seek to decay it. How can you be so naïve? How were we all so naïve? I have chosen a path; I chose to cast aside a life of doing good for fame and glory. My only goal now is to ensure Milkar's ascension.'

Elren shook his head. 'Then you aren't the person I thought you were. You can't believe those lies you tell yourself. They're not true.'

'They _are_ true, Elren!' The tears came now. 'I see it; I've always seen it …My soul spills rebellion, trained to fight, to survive. Milkar knew this; he's been watching, and now he can use me. He can use my strengths to benefit him and save Valenwood. This is my destiny. To accomplish his goals, I must take the path that's through the shadows.'

'Do you believe that? Are you willing to sacrifice yourself as a root in the shadows, so your flower can bloom in the light?'

I nodded.

Elren watched me for a moment, trying to look through the veil of darkness that surrounds my heart. I spent all this time thinking Elren was too difficult to read, little did I know I was the one who was unknowable. There's a dark secret to the life I've chosen, this path that leads me, and the world that surrounds us. And it's that darkness that I must embrace, for Milkar, and for everything I love. I saw the sadness in Elren's eyes then. It's that loneliness that I knew all too well. I wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, and to kiss him softly on his lips. Whisper sweet nothings as I descend into the Void. Elren left his face unreadable, no grin for the demon, no kindness for a raven.

'If you two aren't done with your gods-damned lover's spat. Let's hurry and stop Arian before he kills my Pa. I don't need him dying before his time.' Gwendalyn limped past us, pushing us aside.

I followed her, but Elren didn't. He never made a move towards me or the boat. I could only imagine the hurt.

But this was my chosen duty. And I wasn't going to turn my back on it. I've settled with my role in this world, and I won't disrupt the flow of things until I see fit. That is the real power of a rogue. It's a proper denial of the status quo.

The darkness yawned from the captain's cabin. An eerie absent of noise. Did he already come through here? Aranwen could not have died so quickly by his old master, no matter how much more skilled he was, compared to us. And Fatrigar, despite his handicap, he still looked capable of at least surviving. I descended into the depths of the ship, slowly, one foot after the other. I shrugged my bow from my back and readied an arrow. The muffled thud of Gwendalyn's footsteps stayed close behind.

By the captain's door lay the two watchmen, not dead, but drunk.

'Fuck the Void with it!' Gwendalyn exclaimed. 'Pa should have never given these idiots unlimited access to the rum stock.'

I beckoned her to quiet down and slipped my head slightly into the door. Fatrigar was there, leaning against the wall, his breathing heavy. He was armoring himself, feeding a leather strap through a gauntlet and tying it to his wrist and forearm. The door creaked open, a thundering scream in the silence of the ship.

I had the arrow to the nock, bowstring to my anchor point, aimed well for Arian's heart as he stood before Fatrigar.

'Pa!'

'You stay where you are, Gwendalyn!' Fatrigar barely managed to raise a hand.

'Tell me why I shouldn't release this arrow right now?' I asked.

'Because this no longer concerns you.'

'He's my enemy. This concerns me quite so.' I stretched the bowstring further. I wanted to make sure his chest exploded.

'And he is my friend,' Fatrigar growled. 'Now stand down!'

'I don't care.'

A hand rested on my bow and forced it down. 'It's okay, sister.'

I shoved Aranwen aside, an impulse I never meant to allow and trudged over to Arian.

He turned to face me, Dai-Katana gripped. 'Such a firebrand,' Arian said. 'Why do you believe this is your fight? My sins only concern these two. I have given them a chance to fight. A chance to hold on to their beliefs and allow them to defend against me.'

'I still haven't heard a good reason not to kill you,' I told him.

'Leila!' Aranwen grabbed my collar and tossed me across the room. I felt my back crash against the bulkhead. My body throbbed, heart, pumping heavily against my chest. I heard the whispering voice again, the call of the emerald-eyed raven. Enticingly alluring, I reached for Twilight's Talon. My vision blurred, a tunnel of nothing with only Arian insight. Arian, the man that represented Monsotar. No one will worry when they're all dead. No one must steal, fight, or become pained. This could be easy if I could murder them all.

'Such bloodthirst will only see your loved ones hurt,' Arian said.

I tried to swallow it, managing to loosen the grip on Twilight's hilt. 'I know I—'

At that moment, Arian used the focus on me to make his move. In a flash of lightning speed, the Elder Guardian lunged for Fatrigar. Hand wrapped on the hilt, blade coming free of scabbard in a sing-song symphony, and two runes alight, Twilight's Talon cawed with magicka. Power channeled through the sword and down its blade in a precise violet crescent lifted up to meet Arian's sword.

My sword cleaved the air towards his head. It was a release of power far more concentrated than the one in Arenthia. Back then, Twilight's Talon's was widespread, weaker even. It was the difference of drinking through a cup or drinking through a reed.

A slim blast of my sword's magicka expelled from the blade. The shape of a crescent, shimmering with an inverted light. Everyone reeled back, jumping away from the power that curdled towards Arian.

Arian threw himself to the side, letting the attack hit the ship instead. The wood of the vessel broke with the power, and I cursed at my mistake. The entire ship creaked as the fissure cut deeper until finally, it blew the whole hull to shreds. Wood debris flew in all directions and rained in fragments of all sizes at us. I activated Twilight's Talon's ward rune to protect us for the sharp shooting ends of the ship.

When the hailing of wood splinters faded, water began to flood the bedroom chamber. The cold, salty sea engulfed me despite my thrashing. Through the chaos, I watched as Arian swam his way towards the door which was now above us, suggesting that the ship was already sinking. I had to commit to what I resolved to do. If I didn't, then all of this was for nothing.

I grabbed Arian's foot as he sliced through the water like a fish. His other leg smashed into my cheek hard with a powerful kick, and I briefly let go, wincing at the pain. I only managed to get another grip of the Crow because he struggled with the door. Using the power rune, I released another blast, this one smaller, and managed to destroy the door. We spilled out into the hall in a wave.

The ship was sinking fast. But I wasn't going to allow Arian to get away. After catching my breath, I glimpse Arian dipping in and out of the water, riding the wave through the hall as it flooded with seawater. Behind me, Aranwen, Gwendalyn, Fatrigar, and Elren were gasping for air. I clenched my teeth and left them behind.

They'll survive. They will. Now wasn't the time to worry about them. With the extent Arian went through, threatening his closest friend, his pupil, and his friend's daughter to get to these swords, he won't stop for anything. He needed to die.

'Leila!' I heard Aranwen call.

A pang of guilt struck my heart. Aranwen was now fighting the water to get to me. Me! Not Arian, not the weapons, just me.

'Stop this, please!' He screamed over the rush of water.

I used Twilight's Talon's ward rune to keep the water at bay, effectively stopping it from encumbering Aranwen and I. He glared down at the sword as it shimmered violet light in my hands. I felt the hot sting of his hand across my face. It caught me completely by surprise it did.

He hit me. He damn well hit me. Aranwen never hit me before. Was what I was trying to do so wrong? What was the difference if we let him and Fatrigar fight?

'I—' Another hot sting on the same cheek.

I brought my hand slowly to my cheek, feeling the wet welts that rose on the skin. Then, for some odd reason, the fight in me just disappeared. My bloodlust, the burning hatred, was gone.

It was odd, though. Because even though I remembered what I was doing, I didn't know why I wanted to.

I looked up at my brother; his eyes were sharper than even Milkar's. His shoulder flared, and he looked more like a father than ever before. 'Aranwen,' I said, 'what's happening to me?' I felt my own eyes fill with tears.

'He's going after the Swords of Eplear!' Fatrigar yelled.

I expended my ward to encompass the rest of them, and we managed to reach the deck of the ship. It slanted to its side, threatening to roll into the blackness of the sea.

Luckily, most of the Copper Drakes were ashore in the city for the night, and the ones that stayed on the ship were making their way off. Everything from coils of rope to drums of goods slid down the slanted deck and off splashing into the dark waters below. We chased him down the winding corridor, my sword keeping the flooding at bay. It shimmered with power.

I could end this. With one blast of power from Twilight's Talon, I could send Arian to the Void and prevent him from retrieving those swords for Monsotar. I looked back at Aranwen who stared at me intensely. Aranwen had never hit me before; I'd never seen him in this state, but I knew then that Aranwen was serious. But what if he gets away? What if the Thieves of the Wood actually become too powerful for the Silver Crescents to overcome? I can't think of losing. Not after what I've sacrificed, and what I will sacrifice in the future.

Elren sped pass me, dagger in his right as his left reached for a throwing knife. Elren launched it and kept his charge. The knife flew true and lodged itself in Arian's shoulder, but it didn't do much to slow him. I cursed and turned as Fatrigar and Aranwen caught up and passed me.

I held Twilight's Talon up towards the wave of water. I calmed myself, thinking of what it meant to be in this situation. I caused it. It's my fault, so I had to fix it. The Silver Crescents are, in all fact, the same as the Thieves of the Wood. In what we were—a band of criminals. But we were supposed to be better. It's been more than a year since I became who I am, and since then I have discovered that when you play with fire, your soul will singe. I didn't want that. I wanted the Crescents to remain good. To stay good for the duration of our lives and beyond that. But what must be done did not constitute good, it constituted necessary evils. Tasks that needed to be done can only be done a certain way.

The enchantment activated immediately, strong pulsations throbbing in my hands. Its powerful magicka flowed through the blade, and I felt that. 'Until then, my brothers. I will be your martyr. Lay your trust in me—your raven. A message to the world, and your administrator of a new dawn.' I slipped the tip of my blade into the wood, and the seawater curled backward on itself, reversing the hungry blue waves. 'I will soak my hands in all the blood that seeps into our soil and sully my soul so that yours is clean.' I nodded then, content in my decision. I knew this was the only way. No one understood it. How I feel. I gripped Twilight's Talon and unleashed the most towering blast of magicka I could muster and pushed the ocean back out of the gaping hole from whence it came. The violet energy bubbled around the water and stuck to the fringes of the wound. I slipped Twilight back into its scabbard on my back and shrugged off my bow. Aranwen may want to give Fatrigar a chance to defend himself, he may even want to spare Arian, but what I wouldn't allow is Monsotar gaining the upper hand.

The manifestation of power held the water out of the ship. I heard shouting and metal clanking from down the ship's central corridor. I turned and pedaled my feet quickly. When I reached down the hall, I came to an ample open space probably the width of the entire ship and just as long. A box…no…a vault. Massive metal walls squared me in, but there was nothing else in it.

A sound like a fast-moving arrow whooshed from the other side. When I caught up with the battle sounds, I met Fatrigar wounded but living. His breathing shallow, his eyes closed tight until the crowd feet rooting at the edge of his eyelids were deep furrows. My heart sank. He laid sprawled on the floor, hands slick with blood clutching a knife embedded in his stomach.

I hadn't an extra potion.

'Caught me on the turn,' he panted. 'If I wasn't so sick, it would have been an easy block, but no.'

'You're going to die.' I hated to state the obvious.

'I knew that a moon cycle ago. Dark Void willing, I knew it was coming for a long time.' He chuckled.

'You know what I mean.'

'I do.' He coughed. 'Say,' he said after a while, 'I just wanted to say that… you should consider leaving your brothers to this whole…task you've taken upon yourselves. Their values, although you have the same goal, are different from yours.' Rivulets of blood seeped through his fingers.

'I know,' I said. 'You shouldn't talk so much, Honey-Tongue. You'll bleed out before you could say goodbye to your daughter.'

Fatrigar sighed. 'You children these days are far too grown for your own good. You live in an era of prodigies—no use for old mer like me. My daughter will be plenty fine without a goodbye.'

But perhaps Fatrigar was right. I could genuinely be detrimental to Milkar's vision. The people had to see Milkar as a hero, despite being a criminal. Milkar had to be their Gray Fox.

Fatrigar coughed blood into his palm. He closed his eyes as if going to sleep. Here is an elf that was content with death. The leader of the Copper Drakes was dying before any of us got here, Arian only hastened the process.

'Be fair to my Anny Boy. He does this because he wants what we all want—to save Valenwood. He doesn't like fighting; he doesn't like dealing with situations like this. He's squeamish of blood, awkward around people, and doesn't have the greatest grasp of the concept of having enemies. Yet, when he said he was going to join his brother's cause, I believed him. He's the best person to be at Milkar's side, you know? You though…you're a seedling warmonger, a bad omen, and you are selfish.'

They called this man the Honey-Tongue, but his words betrayed that name. But nothing he said was false; he spoke the hard truth. I suffer from bloodlust. I crave it. How could anyone blame me? I was bred to fight. That's all I ever did. It's all I know.

'Get going, girl. I'll survive.'

He won't.

I pulled the Bosmer up and braced him against my body. He let out a sound that amounted to a sigh and gasp combined. The knife in his jostled but didn't fall. Closer examination to the blade protruding from Fatrigar's gut, I noticed that it hit just the right spot of the abdomen that it didn't pierce an organ. Whether that was a mistake or purposely done remained a mystery. But the leader of the Copper Drakes didn't necessarily have to die. At least not to this wound.

I approached Aranwen, Gwendalyn, and Arian carrying Fatrigar warily; he weighed at least twice I did. I felt failure creep down my spine in a jolt of anxiety. Arian carried all three swords. They were ornate and exotic, just as mine was. I've seen beautiful decorative pieces like them before, but the sword he held could cut down a _Quiver_ of Ranger Guard in one fell swoop. Their enchantments are new, but the swords themselves were as old as the eras. They were the swords wielded by the Bosmer who brought about the first empire of Tamriel.

They were all long swords. And they were made of different metals from each other. Beautiful in all aspects. Arian held one in his right, this one with a long, brass colored hilt, twisting grooves made it seem like a tornado was forged into its making. Its blade was skinny but sharp on both sides. In his left, he wielded a shorter sword, Spell Thorn, still long, but shorter than the other. It shimmered with blue lightning around its blade and had a hilt that looked as if it was forged by smelting several daggers into one. The current that flowed through the weapon had the same pressure as pure, unassigned magicka, different from any lightning destruction spells. It took but a moment to realize that the current wasn't lightning at all, it was indeed magicka. The same kind Augoth used, unchanged by affinity. Esmond was going to get a kick out of that. As for the third, Arian kept it in its scabbard across his back.

I placed Fatrigar on the ground and against the bulkhead.

Arian looked at his old friend then. With sorrowful eyes, his entire goblin face began to frown. 'This was supposed to be a simple job!' He winced. Arian started stabbing the ground with one of the swords. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

'We're passed that master,' Aranwen said. 'None of that. You must stand by your choices and face every consequence. That is what you taught me.'

Arian mostly ignored his old pupil, my brother, and looked at Gwendalyn. 'You also have my apologies, little Gwen. Had I recognized you, I…' his voice trailed off and became choked by a sob.

'Arian…' Fatrigar called. 'Set the swords down. Do what is right.'

'This is right, my brother. It is.'

'You cannot believe that.'

Arian looked down at the blades in his hands. 'I do.'

I gritted my teeth and cursed. 'So then I'll kill you.' I drew my arrow.

Aranwen raised his hand. 'Wait, Leila.'

'No, we failed because of you.'

'And to what cause does killing him serve?' Aranwen barked. 'How are you any different than he is if you do? Monsotar m allows the murder of his marks. He does whatever it takes to complete his jobs. By you doing this, you _are_ Monsotar. You are what we're trying to fight. Put the bow down!'

I fired my arrow. But I didn't go for the killing shot. Instead, I aimed for the Bosmer's hand. Arian managed to move in time, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The arrow sheered through the back of his palm and across a couple of fingers. Spell Thorn clattered to the ground, and Arian pulled his hand back and up howling in pain.

Elren had no hesitation and darted in swiftly. He managed to kick Arian back, landing the balls of his feet squared in Arian's chest. Arian stumbled but recovered. By then, it was too late. Elren swooped up Spell Thorn and lunged in for Arian's other hand.

Aranwen hoped to take advantage as well. My brother leaped in behind Arian and locked his arms around his master.

Before Elren could take hold of the sword, Arian activated the enchantment. A powerful gust of wind wrapped around the lord of silence and sent him careening towards the far side of the vault. Aranwen crashed into the nearest bulkhead, earning a loud "heuh" as the air gushed from his lungs.

I gritted my teeth and frustration, cursing all the gods as I charged in. I blocked a leading slash from his sword with my Iron-Bark bow and skidded to his flank. Arian twisted his body almost snake-like and drove his shoulder into my chest. My lungs lost grip on all the air they contained as he slammed me against the wall. Against the pain, I slid a knife down my sleeve and dragged it across Arian's face. He was too fast and moved just in time to see the short little blade slice his thin padded breastplate. He grabbed me by the collar and threw me back to the ground. I crashed into a coughing fit but spun around in time to halt his sword with my bow again. His blade bit into my bow's bark. Harder than most metals, my trustee Iron-Bark bow saved my life once more.

I thank the gods for that.

A crackling noise exploded from the rear of the vault. The sound of wind and the hum of magicka stretched from far. Within moments, a flying blast of magicka raced down to our end of the vault. The blue energy flowed in the shape of a claw or some sort of curved blade. It ripped above Arian, cleaving the vault's roof clean off with such ease, it might as well have been cheese.

It didn't do much but give the Elder Guardian a chance to escape. Having a clear route to the upper deck, Arian leaped through the opening Spell Thorn created. I looked back at Elren who caught up.

'Good going, Elren.' Aranwen said from behind.

'How is allowing him to escape "good going?"' I asked.

'Less damaged to the ship,' Elren answered.

Gwendalyn hoisted her father up over her shoulders. 'Thank you.' She nodded towards Elren. 'I will take Pa ashore and find a healer; you three should get after Arian.'

Aranwen nodded and leaped out onto the deck.

I didn't like what was occurring; I didn't agree with it. We were supposed to bring the three swords of Eplear back home to keep them away from Monsotar. Instead, we allowed one his Crows to simply walk out with two of the three. This wasn't winning. This was the opposite of winning. And if we weren't winning, then everyone who died up to this point would have died in vain.

Taking one last glance at Gwendalyn, I followed my brother.

The early light of dawn straddled the horizon just above the palm trees. Many dock workers were already crowding the ship after the first wreck. They swam after barrels and crates that plunged into the bay, accessed damages, and looked for plunder. The allure of seizing riches from a rich pirate ship would draw anyone.

I spotted the crowd splitting to allow two Bosmer through; one chased after the other. I could fire an arrow right now and end this. It would be an easy shot. The chase distracted Arian, and he wouldn't see my arrow coming. I could kill an Elder Guard so easily. Father would recognize me for doing so; he would acknowledge my skill. Perhaps we would earn a voice in his council and lead a charge to Monsotar's legion of criminals.

I hopped from the unleveled deck and landed on the pier. Many of the surrounding people gasped as my feet thumped on the wood. 'Move,' I said. They fissured a path. Elren was behind me pushing through. It wasn't until I reached the streets did I start running. Everyone in the city was going about their business as they usually would on such a beautiful morning. But they didn't know what lurked in the shadows; what secret wars waged right under their noses.

As quick as mice, three shadows flew from an alleyway and hopped across street-row rooves of _bananapods_ that made of the residency of Southpoint. They were bastardly fast—almost too quick to follow. I narrowed my eyes at the trio as they bounced from roof to roof in pursuit of Arian and Aranwen. I recognized their armor patterns. Layered leather made their breastplate: ornate gold webbings over dark, thin skin tunics. Their vambraces and boots were of the same style. One of them wore an Anequina steel coif with two Red Eagle feathers jutting out like horns. The other two wore no helm but face mask, disguising their identity.

It wasn't very often you would see _them_ out on a mission.

'I think this just got a little more interesting,' I said, straddling my bow over my back.

'Ranger Guard,' Elren said.

I shook my head slowly. 'Nah.' I chuckled uneasily. 'That's the Elder Guard.'


	21. Elites of the Elite

_"When I look back on that day, there were a million things I could've done to prevent it. I learned the failings of my methods and the limits of my potential." -Leila Lockharte_

* * *

Chapter 21: Elites of the Elite

The Elder Guard were the elites of the elite. They weren't apart of the formal structure of the Ranger Guard, but their order is far from unspoken, chosen from the ranks of the Ranger Guard and recognized as the strongest they had to offer, the Elder Guard consist of the strongest veterans to have ever blessed the ranks of Valenwood's finest fighting force. The Elder Guard were powerhouses you didn't want to face nonchalantly in any situation.

In a way, I hated to admit their strength. I was low-hanging fruit compared to an Elder Guard member. In retrospect, Arian, who'd just made short work of Aranwen, Gwendalyn, and I was once the tenth seat of the Elder Guard. That's tenth of the twelve terribly powerful warriors whom the order offered seats and a rank number based on their level of abilities. Needless to say, the seats one, two, and three were unfathomably strong.

If the trio that chased after Arian and my brother were, in fact, Elder Guard, then they were probably after Arian for his crimes against Valenwood. It is known that the Elder Guard make a conscious decision to take down such powerful foes, especially their own. Aranwen said his master had disappeared since ending his training; this was likely his first appearance in a long time. The simple fact the Elder Guard found him here, during our battle, was frightening. A testament to their skill.

I always thought…no, I knew I was strong—stronger than most Bosmer even, but these three must have been on a tier even I could not fathom.

'What do we do?' Elren asked.

'We have no choice but to follow,' I answered, '…and see what happens.'

We darted through the city streets, further away from the docks and towards the forests north of the city. The giant trees loomed over the skyline. Grahtwood's monstrous expanse seemed daunting from the outside looking in.

Ahead, Aranwen and Arian broke the tree line, then the three Elder Guard, and finally, Elren and I.

This fight was about to become even more hectic than it already was.

Once in the forest, the Elder Guardians made their move. The hooded coif, who seemed as if he led the other two, hopped in the air, caught hold of a hundred-foot-long vine and garnered an instant sway. He rode the vine to its height and at the peak of its swing, he let go and soared through the air. He somersaulted, ending his flight, and landed ahead of Arian and Aranwen making them both skid to halt.

The other two caught up the rear and blocked Aranwen from escaping as he turned quickly. Noticing their armor, Aranwen did the proper thing and pulled a face mask of his own to his face and withdrew his Tanto blades. The short, dagger-like swords gleamed in the low bioluminescent light emitted by the plant life.

Never challenge the Elder Guard. That was advice Tutor Rollyn gave me early on in training. One day, while making a stop on the outskirts of Woodhearth, we watched the warrior-turned-politician, Treethane Fert, train against twenty high ranking Rangers. Rollyn referred to him as the fourth seat. My Tutor knew most of the Elder Guard personally, so I heeded his words, having trained the few of them before my time, or even my brother's.

Elren and I hid behind the nearest root wall. The five stood in the avenue of several enormous trees. Their roots intermingled with each other creating hills and mounds of uneven ground. Lesser trees dotted the forest floor and emitted that dull green hue that shone faintly on the group.

'We should help,' Elren suggested.

'We'll just get in the way,' I said.

Arian sighed and looked back at Aranwen with an embarrassed expression. 'You can't beat them, Anny Boy. These three are—'

'Here for you, Arian.' The lead Elder Guard said.

He wielded two short swords, the distinguishable badges of the Ranger Guard. A long bow kept strapped to his back alongside a large quiver full of purple feathered arrows. Those short swords of Leviathan bone and refined quicksilver were typical of any Ranger Guard warrior; they were issued to them at their commencement to becoming a Ranger Guard feather. But once you're promoted, you receive newer short swords—ones made of various rare metals. But for an Elder Guard to use them was surely just for fun or the memorabilia behind them.

I couldn't see their faces, but the one wearing the Khajiiti-steel coif with the two feathers stood facing our direction. Shadows streaked across his nose and mouth, obscuring any recognition. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and there wasn't much of Y'ffre's Light from the plants around them to illuminate him to full detail. From what I could see, he was young. As young as Aranwen, even.

The other two didn't wear any head armor. Instead, they wore cowls to cover the lower half of their faces. But from behind, they were of the same height with the same silky, light brown hair of the same length. As a matter of fact, they seemed as if they were the same person.

My heart jolted to a stop, and an uneasy smile crept along my mouth. I knew these two: Heila and Neila Goldenseed! Up until now, I didn't know what their arrival meant for us. For Arian, they would probably arrest him; put him in bonds and take him away. Or they could kill him. The Goldenseed twins were the eighth and ninth seats. Technically they should be stronger than Arian being of a higher seat than him.

The identity of the third Elder Guardian eluded me. The others moved according to his direction, probably of a higher seat. But who? Either the way, it was three against one. All three of which were undoubtedly stronger than Arian.

I shivered.

'Let's at least get Aranwen out of there,' Elren pointed. 'This is the proper justice he wanted for Arian.'

'The Swords of Eplear.' I grunted.

'The Elder Guard will retrieve them.'

I still didn't like that. If Arian failed to take the swords back to Monsotar, he would send someone else to steal them from whoever comes to possess them in the end. They needed to be in our hands.

'You're always so self-righteous, did you know that?'

Elren nodded. 'I believe it's better to help and to forgive then it is to infect others with your pain. It's not a transfer—you don't lose it. You share it with others.'

'What happens when we let Arian escape, and Monsotar becomes stronger?' I asked him. His brown eyes locked in with mine.

'Monsotar remains Monsotar.' He smiled. 'And we remain good.'

Our attention moved back to the five Bosmer. Aranwen surveyed the twins warily. At this point, he should have realized whom the three were. Covering his face was a good move, this lot was under the direct command of my father. If Father found out about the Silver Crescents, terrible things would happen.

Aranwen backed up. He needed an out—a distraction. There wasn't anything I could think of that could distract the Elder Guard. 'We'll have to run in there. I don't see any other way.'

Elren considered my words then nodded. Rarely did he ever approve of my tactics, taking to a more silent kind. Ever since I met the boy, Elren has always been about the fast and quiet strike. This time was undoubtedly different. And we were desperate.

We got in a position ready to pounce. Elren still possessed Spell Thorn, the sword glimmered. I withdrew my Osseinnium dagger from its sheath.

'You ready?' I asked Elren.

He nodded.

'Go!'

We rushed around the root wall, running as fast as we could. I was just a few paces away before Neilo, the male twin noticed me. I slide across the soil, keeping my body low, and drew up under his guard. I thought I was doing well so far, but his shining green eyes followed my every move. He had such striking eyes; his black pupils were two fine points in a pool of green. I hooked up from my slide and drove a knee into Arian's back. I tried prying the third sword from it as he slammed to the ground. After three tries, Neilo was already on me.

Heila was already ready for Elren when he reached her. She had the same eyes. But this twin had a sinister looking smile about her. When she parted her lips, she revealed a row of sharp whites, ground for intimidation. Elren feigned an attack but tackled the girl instead.

Neilo's fist connected with my right cheek and a long line of blood spouted from parted lips. I ran my tongue through my gums, searching for the wound. Nothing but pressure and blood from it and all the feeling was gone. I spat. Neilo's strike put me a distance. As if the very force behind his fist was that of a bull, bumping me several paces instead of bulldozing. The pain hurt worse than getting stabbed.

My mind descended into a fog. The sound of metal clanking on metal echoed distantly as if I was somewhere far away. My vision blurred and fuzzed until I couldn't discern bush from people.

'What exactly is going on here?' The coiffed Bosmer asked.

'Nothing that concerns you, Crestel.' Arian replied.

Crestel crunched his nose. 'When it comes to my comrades, Arian. Everything concerns me.'

The name Crestel rang familiar, triggering many bells and whistles. It put the shakes in me. My family on both sides of the tree is full of renowned names that have a reputable amount of gravitas. Crestel High-Arrow was Mother's first cousin, removed once. About Milkar's age, he took the route Father always wanted for me. The gem of clan High-Arrow, he joined with Ranger Guard, climbed their ranks, and was invited as the first seat of the Elder Guard. Aranwen seemed he knew the implications, but Crestel didn't show any signs of recognizing us.

'What do you want with me?' Arian spared a glance towards the twins.

'There have been rumors that you were around working for the Thieves of the Wood.' Crestel glared from under his coif. 'The Countreeve employed the Battlereeve himself come to retrieve you.'

'Retrieve me?' Arian laughed. 'You are the puppet of the puppet of the puppet.'

Crestel seemed amused. 'Eight years ago, you fought the Lord of the Tam'Akar. Tell us the truth of that day. Why did you do it? Who ordered you to go after him?'

'No one ordered me,' Arian said. 'I challenged him because of his views, his plans, and his deeds.'

'Why was it any of your concern?' Crestel folded his arms. 'We take orders from the Battlereeve, and he is directly under the Countreeve. Have you forgotten about her? She's the Thalmor official that leads our—'

'We…are no longer Ranger Guard, Crestel. You do know that, don't you?' Arian narrowed his eyes. 'The Elder Guard plays no official role to Dominion other than a tradition that keeps us close to the Battlereeve and the Silvenar. Sure, some of us are still within the ranks of the Ranger Guard but being an Elder Guard doesn't mean anything. It's merely a prestigious band of veterans.'

Crestel rubbed his chin. 'That's true, Arian. But it is also tradition that if one of us becomes a traitor to his province or the Dominion, then _we_ are the ones to take you down. You attacked someone of a considerable office without an order. That was treason.'

'He burned my mind, Crestel. He showed me things. The future! A world where the Thalmor rule, and the rest of the world are slaves. There was too much bloodshed and an angry winged shadow descended on the world to swallow it whole.'

'So, an old Altmerish mage cast an illusion spell on your mind to make you cower for eight years? How pathetic!' Heila said. She had a cleaver to Aranwen's neck, keeping him in place.

Neilo kept Elren bound on the ground, his knee stabbing Elren's spine.

'Don't worry, Arian. You will stand trial in front of the Countreeve, Silvenar, and a magistrate.'

'And you believe that to be justice?'

My cousin smiled sympathetically. 'It's the best we have.'

I limped slowly back to Neilo who chuckled at the sight of me. 'Say, Arian. Who are these three?'

Arian was silent for a long moment. 'Just some merchants. I stole these swords from them.'

'Those swords look familiar,' Crestel pointed.

'They're going to help save Valenwood.'

Crestel looked disappointed. 'Are you serious about waging war with the Tam'Akar? You know that is a fight even you cannot win.'

'I just have to kill one Altmer, and this will all be over.'

I drew my sword, earning a sidelong stare from Neilo. 'Are you sure they're merchants? They look heavily armed. Bandits maybe?'

Heila pushed her cleaver against Aranwen's skin, drawing a trickle of blood. 'They look too clean for bandits,' she said. 'This one's handsome.'

'Keep your legs closed, sister. You don't have to fuck every brigand we arrest, you know.'

'You shut your big trap!'

'If it's any consolation, I think you're quite beautiful,' Aranwen chuckled uneasily. Heila raised an eyebrow.

'Reframe from hurting them, if you will. The consequences will be dire for all of us if they are harmed.' Arian glanced back at Aranwen. 'Trust me.'

'You are not in a position to give orders, Arian.' Crestel narrowed his eyes. 'You never were.'

'I'm just giving you some advice.'

All three of the higher seated Elder Guard glanced at each other. Neilo watched me with incredulous eyes, unaware of the pain his knee was causing Elren. It pissed me off. I gripped Twilight's Talon and allowed power to reach its blade. An ominous violet color wrapped the Iron-Bark and marking the sword bruised with the darkest of blues and the blackest of blacks. The sudden shift caused Neilo to flinch a bit.

'What in the Void is that?' Neilo asked.

'Get off him,' I growled.

'Not until we know you are innocent.' His eyes didn't leave my blade.

Neilo was pretty, delicate, and lithe. Not exactly what I thought of the Elder Guard. The mind's eye viewed them as a group of strong but wrinkled old mer that still liked to play with swords. These three were far too young to be thought of as elders of anything. His sister was just the same. She was what most people would call cute. Even I looked tougher than both.

But looks were almost always deceiving. The stories of the Goldenseed twins were anything but adorable. They were nasty and capable warriors. Heila with her massive cleaver, and Neilo with his enchanted whip that can stretch around Nirn an infinite number of times and shred an entire Graht Oak to ribbons.

Crestel High-Arrow was the strongest of all the Elder Guard. I didn't know what set him apart from the others just that he was the son of Mano the Elder, Mother's cousin who was the eleventh seat of the Elder Guard. Crestel wore the standard Ranger Guard armor of an officer rank and wielded his first pair of Ranger Guard short swords. Now that I know that it's him, I can see those piercing emerald eyes we shared. All of clan High-Arrow shared them. He reminded me of Milkar.

None of that mattered now. I wanted Arian dead, the swords in our hands, and Elren freed from Neilo's knee.

But it was Arian that took advantage of their distraction. With a quick flick of the wrist, Arian shot of blast of cold air at his palm, aimed at Crestel. The First Seat shielded himself with just his arms. Frost formed over his armor and icicles spiked from the edges of the mer's body. I took that opportunity to unleash a wave of magicka towards the Neilo. As nimble as one would think, Neilo jumped of his static position and flipped head over heels in the air. Such acrobatics seemed an impossibility until now.

Arian bounded through the brush. My attack allowed Elren to recover Spell Thorn he dropped earlier. Heila defended herself with a few parries against Aranwen's Tantos and retreated with Neilo. Crestel flexed, and an ice explosion sent shards in all directions. He jerked his neck left and right earning the loud cracking of his spine bones.

'That was refreshing!' Crestel turned towards us.

Aranwen and Elren moved towards my sides.

'We should take them in,' Heila suggested.

'They may or may not be in league with Arian, but we can't be sure.' Neilo raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

'Aranwen,' I kept my voice low so that only we heard it, 'That's Cousin Crestel.'

'I know,' Aranwen replied. 'That's why I'm still trembling.'

'Is he that strong?' Elren dissected the three Elder Guardian in half with his new sword.

'Yes.'

I nodded.

'But we don't have any bad blood with him. Actually, I love the elf!' Aranwen let on a pained smile.

I sighed. 'We can't let him tell Father.'

'It might be a little too late for that.'

In that instant, something miraculous occurred. A small, glowing orb fell from the green roof of the forest. It hit the ground with a thud and bounced twice before coming to a stop between the three Elder Guardians.

'What now?' Crestel eyed the small orb of magicka.

Two more fell. I smiled. 'Elren! Aranwen! Get away.' I pushed them to the ground and away and the ground began to rumble.

Where there was once only underbrush grew larger plants in its place. The ground split apart, and large stalks beamed straight up. The three legendary warriors scattered to the ground-weaving roots that arched high enough away from the soil. Boughs of a tree snaked upward, and the long base pushed everything in its wake to the wayside.

'See! I told you not to use three Magicae balls,' Ceril said, scolding Sickle Ear. 'Look what you've gone and done.'

The two wild Bosmer stood on one of the branches of their newly grown tree.

'Yah worry a lil' too much. Everything seems fine.' The brute pointed to where we stood. 'Look it there.'

Ceril followed his finger and spotted us. 'What in Y'ffre's name are you still doing here? Go after that ugly elf that just escaped. We got it from here.'

Crestel jumped down from the arching root he took refuge. 'Okay.' He shrugged. 'I suppose that counts as an attack.'

* * *

Aranwen, Elren, and I escaped into the forest. A pang if guilt rocked me as we did so. I had hoped they would at least hold their own against such monstrously skilled warriors. But they won't; they couldn't. My family on my mother's side were known as darling heroes of the province. And those of clan Lockharte were known as the shrewd politicians, businessmen, and cunning cons.

'Will they be okay?' Elren asked as we swung through the trees.

'It isn't like we had a choice. They're both capable. We should have faith in them,' I told him.

'Is that your excuse?'

I released the vine and landed on a bough. Elren did the same and landed beside me. 'More of your moral compass?'

'Are we still chasing Arian? Are you going to kill him?' Elren's face grew grim.

I gritted my teeth. 'No. But I won't allow him to use those swords.'

Elren narrowed his eyes, but then his head snapped to where we left the Ceril and Sickle. 'They're here.'

I followed his glare. 'What? Already?'

A long-leathered line stretched across the forest and whipped Elren across his chest. The attack garnered a large gust of wind and sent Elren careening. The force of the blow created a crater in the meat of the nearest tree with Elren as its epicenter. His head went limp as he hung there, almost lifeless.

When the whip made a turn for me, I drew Twilight's Talon and activated its enchantment. Teeth studded the strap, creating a serrated edge that lashed at my blade. I let the whip wrap the sword and pulled as hard as I could to draw out its owner. Someone hidden in the brush began ruffling the mer-sized leaves. I jerked it down, and the whip went limp, uncoiling from my sword and slithering away.

'Come on out Neilo!' I called to the brush.

The eighth seat of the Elder Guard strode out across the branch with a wry grin stretched across his face, his whip was looped around his hand. I spat, still remembering the hard punch he administered earlier.

'Few can counter my attacks,' he said with a sing-song voice. If it weren't for his choice of weapons, I wouldn't be able to discern him from his sister.

Neilo had incredibly soft features, a small body, and a smooth, pretty face. It would be appropriate to say he looked childlike. But I couldn't underestimate the twin; he was after all, still an Elder Guardian.

Neilo raised an eyebrow. 'And you stood after taking a punch by my fist. Needless to say, I'm impressed.'

'You expected me to fall after one hit?' I asked him.

'He did.' Neilo nodded to Elren.

My jaw clenched. 'I suppose it's true when they say never meet your heroes.'

'Lest we forget, you attacked us. We were only here for Arian. You didn't have to butt in for any reason besides some selfish desire of your own.' Neilo shrugged. 'Now, where is he? Probably gone for another decade, who knows.'

'And now? Why have you stopped for me? Arian escaped that way.' I pointed with a thumb at the long, twisting wall of jungle to my back.

'Oh,' Neilo said. 'I'm here because you made me angry.'

I felt my body slip from the ground from my feet and twirl me around in the air. A vine slithered around my ankles and swiped me into the air. Hanging upside down, the rush of blood from my feet to my head left my world spinning. Twilight's Talon slipped from my grip and pierced the tree branch. It stood upright almost as if it looked up at me as I dangled from above. Another vine coiled around my wrists, bounding them together.

Neilo laughed and clapped his hands. He unfurled his whip and lashed it towards Elren. The whip struck out towards Elren's unconscious body and constricted him like a snake. Neilo brought his arm back, and his whip reacted, pulling Elren back to our branch. More vines crawled from the brush and hung Elren in the same manner.

'Hopefully, someone will find you before all your blood drains to your head, but until then, you should suffer your punishment.' Neilo winked at me. 'And be appreciative I didn't just kill you.'

The Goldenseed twin smiled and disappeared behind the thicket.

'Cheeky bastard.' I coughed.

I glanced over at Elren who still hung unconscious. He looked unharmed even after taking such a hard blow. I half expected to end up like this against any of them. I just didn't think I would feel as powerless. Even with Twilight's Talon, I was no match for Neilo.

I folded my body and straightened to gain some momentum. I swung just an inch, forward then backward. I did it again and gained a little more. A few more tries, and I began swinging at a faster pace across. I pushed with the forward motions and pulled with the backward. I did this until I was close enough to reach Elren.

Missing the first attempt to wrap my bound hands around him, I grunted and pulled back as hard as I can. This next swing came hard. My forward swing whipped air, and finally, I latched on to Elren by straddling his head between my forearms. Next, I brought my hands down to his belt knife and cut my hands free. Quickly, I took my knife and sliced my feet free which left me dangling on Elren. Elren's bandolier of throwing knives held but one throwing knife. I grabbed it and launched the smooth steel blade at the vines that held Elren's feet. We fell a dozen feet to the bark below.

'In a few years, we're going to look back at these adventures and laugh.' I patted Elren on the head.

There was another rustling among the leaves. I scrambled for my sword, but I'd just missed the mark. I slapped the side of my neck as if stung by a Marabunta wasp. What I found there was no insect, rather, I extracted a long, thin needle, ivory save for a speckle of my blood, which committed the crime of penetrating my skin. Almost immediately, my vision blurred, and my arms fell to my sides, the ability to raise them no longer with me. The needle dropped from my fingers and settled between the cracks of the trees corky bark. Rustling again, and a tall, dark figure appeared from behind the foliage. My tongue slipped from my mouth through parted lips, swollen fat and rebellious to my whim.

As the shadowed silhouettes grew closer, I tried to use my own body to shield Elren.

That's when the darkness took me.


	22. Clan High-Arrow

_I learned that my path has always been in the shadow. I always viewed the world with darkness in my eyes. Tutor Rollyn tried to beat it from me. He told me a child shouldn't think as I did. Strength and passion tramped my path to victory rather than democratic diplomacy. It wasn't the way Ara did it he'd say. A damsel in distress, locked in her tower for all to see. Sneak into the tower, save the bitch, win a kiss; is that the right way? When is it ever that simple? Capture the lord who locked her up, punish him, and tell the woman to save herself.-Leila Lockharte_

* * *

Chapter 22: Clan High-Arrow

I rolled onto my back sluggishly and allowed the flood waters to carry me down a muddy ridge. My body halted at a congregation of tree roots. Mudwater pooled between the slope and the base of the tree, lifting me high and depositing me on a protruding root archway. I clung on for my life and expelled the water from my lungs. My mind was still in a haze from whatever poison entered my body.

Above, lightning flashed followed by booming thunder. I recalled the biting sting before I fell unconscious. Finally gaining a bit of understanding, I scrambled about for my weapons but found them where they belonged. Even Twilight's Talon was in its scabbard, crossing my back. I sighed. Another realization hit me, and I searched quickly for Elren but was nowhere to be found. I tried calling out for him, but there was no answer. My voice couldn't carry over the howling of winds, the hissing of the trees, and the loud patter of the rain and the thrashing waterfalls that collected in the trees above. Despite the storm raging through this part of Valenwood, it was at least high noon. I'd been out for hours.

The forest floor churned with the mud rapids, flowing through the avenues that pathed between each tree.

The crackle of leather smacking wood spun me around. Crestel High-Arrow landed beside me, his emerald eyes looking into mine.

'You seem to have seen better days,' he said.

'Did you poison me with a dart?' I asked, groggily.

Crestel shook his head in protest. 'No?' It was more question than an answer.

'Who did then?' I tried to pull myself up to stand. I drew my short sword, but it served better as a crutch to lean on than to help me in a fight.

'Did what?' Crestel asked, incredulously.

'Poison me!'

'I don't know.' He moved closer, and I flailed at him, upsetting my balance. The force behind my strike nearly threw me off the root and back into the mud river below. The brown water flowed through the undergrowth at treacherous speeds. 'Easy.'

I glanced up at him and sighed. He had the demeanor of familiarity in him. The facade was over. 'Where's Elren?'

'I don't know, Leila. Who was that boy? And the tall one, I presume he was Aranwen?'

'He was my friend, and we were…attacked. I don't know by who if it wasn't you.' I pulled myself up to one knee.

Crestel shrugged and raised a hand against the rain. He surveyed the area. 'I only saw you on this root. Your friends got away. Condensed magic balls? What in the divines above have you and your brothers been up to?'

'That's not important now. What's important is Arian. Did you catch him?'

Crestel shook his head. 'Nope. And you can thank yourself for that. Obstruction of an official arrest is a high crime, Leila. You have a lot of explaining to do.'

'Can't. I have to find my friends and go after Arian.' I stood on wobbly legs.

Crestel rested a hand on my chest and pushed me back down. I cursed him and tried to slip away into the water, willingly this time. Crestel grabbed my feet and pulled me back to the surface from the root. 'My first question is: Why were you after Arian?'

'It's none of your damned business.'

'Leila, you are family. This is serious.'

'You haven't visited in years.'

'I am _the_ Crestel High-Arrow of the Elder Guard. You know I have no time to visit.'

I nodded. 'Okay then. Move along.' I didn't remember my cousin being this insufferable.

Crestel flipped me around and placed a foot on my back, pinning me to the slick root archway. 'As far as I'm concerned, you're a criminal. And I have all the right to turn you in. Tell me.'

I grunted. 'The Swords of Eplear. Arian was stealing the Swords of Eplear for Monsotar. He tried killing Fatrigar Honey-Tongue and taking the swords to boosts Monsotar's power.'

'A typical gang war,' Crestel said.

'This isn't a gang war. This is the fate of Valenwood as we know it.'

Crestel pressed harder with his foot. 'Do tell.'

'Monsotar is the leader of—'

'I know who he is,' Crestel interrupted. 'Tell me what you meant by the "fate of Valenwood?"'

I punched the wood of the root out of frustration. 'Because Milkar, Aranwen, and I are trying to stop Monsotar from helping the Tam'Akar. If we stop him, we garner support from Valenwood's officials. After gaining the trust of the people, we could set the people's eyes on the workings of the Tam'Akar. We know of Aridiil's plot to find and use Ara's power to destroy the Empire.'

For a moment I felt his leg lighten. 'Leila. This next question will either seal your fate or free you from it, so answer wisely.' I heard one of his short swords slide from its sheath. 'Are you a thief?'

I shook my head. 'The Silver Crescents aren't thieves.'

'This "Silver Crescents," is that what you and your brothers call yourselves?'

I nodded.

'Are you connected to "the Black Raven"'

'Yes.'

'Are you her?' Crestel didn't like my answer as I told him what the people called me. In shock, he almost let me go. 'Leila…you're a national criminal.'

A flush of shame waved over me. 'I did what I needed to do.'

Crestel removed his foot finally. 'To stop the Tam'Akar?'

'They're evil, Crestel. They've killed so many of our people. In the shadows, where no one can hear the scream; the Greenpact Bosmer are slaughtered tribe by tribe. My friend Elren was from the Red Moss. I'm sure you've heard of them.'

Crestel's face grew grim. 'Yes. The others and I have our speculations about Aridiil's actions. Your father believes he is searching for the _Ghost Flame_ as well.'

'My father allows Aridiil to work freely!' I spat. 'That damned bastard can eat shit for all I care.'

'Oh yeah?' Crestel scoffed. 'Tell him yourself.'

I snapped. 'He's here?'

Crestel nodded.

'I believed that we couldn't trust anyone on your side. The Elder Guard isn't an official band; you're just the best that came out of Valenwood's army. I know that none of you are affiliated with any tenets. But my father garners trust in all of you, and he _is_ an official of both the Thalmor regime and Valenwood's nobility.

'Yes,' Crestel said. 'It's true your father is friends with us all. But most of us have opposing political views. Some may favor the Dominion's way of life… others would rather fight it. Being an Elder Guardian does not group us politically or morally for that matter. We are a scattered bunch only loyal to your father because he has done so much for the Ranger Guard. Even now, this is all just one big favor. Although the twins are still Rangers, I am not.'

'Who can I trust among you?' It was an important question I had to ask. 'Since Arian was in Monsotar's pocket, how many more of you do you think take coin from him?'

Crestel didn't say anything for a while. For him to answer such a question would mean that he would have to implicate people that he loved and fought with through the years. I didn't know many of them personally, but the ones I did know were my blood. Crestel and his uncle, Mano the Elder, and the Lockharte star-child, Tuuton the Bow. Whether that name was given to him in spite of his rank in the Ranger Guard, or the mere fact that he has never used a different weapon than his Iron-Bark bow was up for debate.

The rain stopped beating down on the green roof above, ushering an end to the storm. The sunlight beamed down through gaps of the forest canopy, leaving a glistening, wet wonderland.

The silence stretched on between us as we watched the water subsided into the forest floor. I regained all feeling in my limbs by the time it was safe to leave the root archway.

Finally, I spoke and said 'Aridiil is working outside of the Thalmor's wishes.'

'There's little to no doubt he is,' Crestel agreed. 'Whenever we try to inquire on his dealings, we're met with friction from over the Blue Divide. Your father doesn't want to go to the Countreeve on the matter, or the Silvenar even.'

'Why arrest Arian?'

'He knows something we don't. Something about Lord Nethilvere.'

'There's that name again,' I pointed. 'Who is that?'

'You don't want to know.'

Crestel stuck his hand towards me, and I took it. My cousin was more like Milkar than anyone I knew. Tall, wide shoulders, and an impossibly handsome face. Where my brother was shrewd, cunning, and sharp, Crestel was merely charming and damnably dangerous in a fight. 'I'm sorry, but I can't trust you completely,' Crestel said. 'But you can help us capture Arian.'

'My only concern is the Swords of Eplear. Their rightful owner is the Merchant-Pirate, Fatrigar Honey-Tongue.' I watched Crestel with the intent of closing the deal.

'Those relics are no concern of mine. Your father asked to take Arian in, and that's all I'm going to do.' Crestel nodded.

'My father…' I trailed my words. There was something coming. I felt it in my bones.

Crestel looked off between the towering trees and sighed. 'Leila,' he said, 'I don't hold any command over these fools, you must know that. Our seat rank is merely in conjunction with our abilities, and it isn't a chain of command.'

I bit my lip and nodded. Something terrible was about to happen. 'Yes, I know,' I said.

'Here they come.'

I brought my short sword into a guard as Neilo's dagger slammed into mine. Neilo moved with such speed; I couldn't see him with just my eyes. I had to feel the magicka spilling from him. A splice of the alteration spells _levitation_ and _whirlwind_ gave him the ability to charge through the air at incredible speeds. But his magicka stores didn't allow him to continue the feat.

'I gave you a chance, but you didn't take it,' Neilo growled.

I pushed him off my blade, but he swung with his whip. I feinted hard to the left and let the enchanted lengthy weapon cut away and crack towards his sister. Heila had been charging at me from behind, but her footsteps were too loud. Neilo's whip smacked the air, and Heila hopped away from it.

I tumbled and kicked away another attempt from Neilo's whip. When I landed, the Goldenseed twins gave me an incredulous look.

'Well, I didn't expect her to move like that,' Neilo said. 'She didn't do that earlier.'

'She moves well. I sense she's highly trained.' Heila smiled gleefully.

I took a step back. 'What do you want from me?'

'To know who you are and to know where Arian has run off to.' Neilo slammed his dagger back in its sheath and cracked his whip.

Heila gave her massive cleaver a few swings as if readying herself. Her weapon was almost the size of herself, and I wondered how such a small girl carried such a large weapon with ease.

The twins looked all too excited to have a fight on their hands. They loved it too, the fight that is. Like a drug, they live for this. I could see it in their eyes, their smiles, and how paced and prowled like a pair of senche cats moving on a kill.

'Crestel, why don't you sit this one out. You had that group of Nords the last time, lucky bastard.' Heila turned to my cousin and stuck her tongue out.

'This isn't a game, Heila. Stand down, she's—'

'I'm curious to see how notoriously strong the Goldenseed twins are.' I curtsied a bow, thinking of the great mistake I was about to make. 'I'm the Black Raven; you can call me Raven.'

I didn't know what it was, but their abilities enticed me. I was nothing compared to these folks. The strongest Valenwood had to offer. These are the people that my father wanted me to become. Was it worth my childhood; to have trained as hard as I did, and gain this much strength?

I stretched my arms out, feeling the last of the toxins dissipate from my system. The fog of my mind was no longer there, but I still had to be mindful of any lasting effects. Crestel watched me then. Perhaps he wanted to stop us in respects for my father, or he was curious to see how skilled I was.

There was no doubt in my mind that my cousin didn't hear the stories of my prowess among my peers during the years of training with Tutor Rollyn. Or the stories circulating in rumor about the girl who destroyed a city square and killed a hundred Altmer soldiers fighting against two of the strongest Justiciar Inquisitors of the Tam'Akar Inquisition. Such feats do not go unnoticed even from people such as these three. But what frightened me the most was that I wanted to show them. I wanted them to see my skill and my power. Not to gloat but to establish just what was brewing in the dark as they work for and ignore the corruption festering under their noses.

Crestel kept quiet, but I'd piqued the twins' appetite.

'Don't get cocky, bitch.' Heila charged, but Neilo whipped his whip towards me.

I expelled a breath, leaped into the air, and launched a throwing knife at Heila. Neilo's whip threatened to coil around me, but I spun mid-air and narrowly dodged the attempt. When I landed, Heila was already on my heels. She swung her cleaver creating a massive _swoosh_ as I ducked under. I brought my sword up towards her chest, but Neilo's whip slapped against my blade. Heat discharged from the length of the enchanted and left a scorch mark. Using my dagger, I tried to saw through the lash, but Heila came down with another swing of her cleaver. I wasn't giving a choice; there was nothing I could do but to leave my short sword at the mercy of Neilo. The whip constricted my blade like a snake and folded the metal until it snapped in half.

The twins nodded towards each other approvingly. They were taking mental notes of the fight. Rating me as if I was some corner club published in some traveler's journal. I ground my teeth and narrowed my eyes.

Heila nodded towards Twilight's Talon. 'I think it's time to use the big one.'

I drew the sword slowly, letting the Iron-Bark hardness sing against the inside of its scabbard. That beautiful song Iron-Bark created gave me the chills. I smiled contently. 'Elren, just hold on a little longer,' I muttered.

Heila raised her eyebrow. 'Neilo, do you think she knows how to use that thing?'

'I'm starting to think she knows a lot more than what we're giving her credit for,' he replied.

'Have a thing for our little thief here, don't you?' Heila chuckled. 'She'll tell us where Arian is, or die.'

'I don't know where he is, and it is you who are keeping me from looking.' I nodded towards my cousin. 'Just ask him.'

Heila spun around to glare at Crestel. He shrugged with his arms crossed and wry grin tugging at his lips. I took the opportunity to propel myself at the ninth seat. I activated Twilight's Talon and power flared around its blade. I almost had her too if it weren't for her brother's whip. It crackled out and tied itself around my leg. I flipped to the ground, and he pulled me up and tossed me into the air. Neilo cracked his shoulder back, garnering power in the weapon and brought it forward. Before his attack could connect, Twilight's Talon formed a ward around me, absorbing the power. I landed on the forest floor and rushed in. Heila was already on the attack as was I. While she charged at me, my eyes were on Neilo's whip. He cracked it again to support Heila's attack. They had no idea what power my sword held. I dipped down low, stabbing Twilight into the softened ground and expelled a vast amount of power. Fissures began to form around Heila, and she skidded to a halt; her eyes widened with shock.

'Don't underestimate me,' I said.

I under arched my sword out of the ground and let the pure, unbridled power unleash on the girl. Large chunks of Nirn blasted outward, rocking Heila and threw her some ways away. In the withdrawal of Twilight's Talon from the ground, my sword sliced off the end of Neilo's whip. Both twins did not say a word.

Crestel halted any further fighting with his slow clapping. He stopped between the twins and me and smiled approvingly at me. Despite his appraising stare, my body felt beaten and battered while the Goldenseed twins were completely unharmed. 'Well done.'

Heila twirled her cleaver and set it in strap on her back. A pleased smiled brightened her face. 'Who in the Void are you? There aren't many people who can take both of us on and survive.'

'Were you actually trying to kill me?' I asked.

'If we were then you wouldn't be alive to ask that question.' Neilo hopped down from the higher ground. 'Still… that was incredible.'

'Will you help us now?' Crestel asked.

I glanced towards the forest, torn between going for Arian, unabated. Or rendezvous with the others. Elren could be hurt somewhere or worse. But my friend was strong; he could be out there capturing the Swords of Eplear as we speak.

I nodded. 'We should.'

Heila narrowed her eyes and closed her face with mine. 'Peculiar,' she said and turned to Crestel. 'You two are related?'

'We're relatives.' Crestel assured her as if she was supposed to know. 'This is the daughter of Battlereeve Faeden Lockharte and Ara High-Arrow.'

Heila's face fell agape.

Neilo rubbed his bald chin. 'That explains everything.'

I considered Crestel for a while. How fast he was willing to accept me was outright abominable. Some Mer are like that, though. They can take a mortal's flaws and shove them aside only seeing the good in them. I will never be that good of a soul. I didn't think I was capable of it.

Despite him being my cousin, he was the first seat of the Elder Guard. Some say the gap of power between seat one and two is larger than the gap between two and twelve. Ironically seat two of the Elder Guard was also a cousin of mine from clan Lockharte. Crestel was so powerful that fighting me would amount to a dragon facing down a rabbit. And yet, he accepted me on a whim.

'We should go,' Crestel suggested. 'But first…' He trailed off.

There are certain people on Nirn that have an aura about them. It's a physical manifestation of willpower that boosts strength and gives all mortals on Nirn a life force. It goes largely unnoticed in a wild animal, tree, or the average Bosmer. Some say it is what powers the soul gems enchanters use to create their magical weapons. This life force is a culmination of a living being's vitality, magicka, and stamina. A being can train its aura to be stronger and more visible to the other beings around him. For a fighter, it is vital that you train to sense this power scale in order to size your opponent. It's not always necessary at times even a small mouse would be enough to kill a giant, but for two warriors facing off with each other, it comes in handy.

My father was tall, broad-shouldered, and brooding. He watched everything with meticulous dark green eyes. He had always been the bigger of all three of his children. His muscles rippled under need his skin-tight tunic. A low cut, plated vest slung over his shoulders and protected his torso. Father donned braces on both forearms, each with three small knives strapped on the underside of his wrist. He wore his loose-fitting, thin leather pants tucked into leather boots that looked sturdy enough to kick boulders. Faeden Lockharte, the mer, the myth, the legend himself stood before us. New wrinkles barracked his frown as he approached our little group. Mother's ring glinted in the spotted sunlight. No one said a word the closer he got.

Upon seeing me, a single eyebrow began to arch.

'Daughter,' he said.

'Father,' I replied. I couldn't help but smile.

'It…has been awhile.' My father glanced towards Crestel. 'You disappeared. You and your brothers.'

'And you never came searching? Have you no love your beloved children?'

Faeden scoffed, and I finally saw my father persona peek. 'I kept tabs on the rumors and conjecture surrounding your name. I always knew your brother was up to something; I just didn't expect him to drag you and Aranwen with him.' Father nodded towards Crestel. 'Report.'

'Arian is missing. But he's hiding in the sector. He's been working for the Thieves of the Wood, spewing that same old "end of Valenwood cry."'

'So, you and two others couldn't take him down?' Faeden asked Crestel.

Crestel narrowed his eyes incredulously as if wondering what tone my father was taking. A fight between these two would be a tale to tell at the campfire and in every tavern in the province. But they knew the clan's boundaries of infighting. Marrying my mother was Father's way into clan High-Arrow, and he took every advantage he could. 'Coincidentally, we happened upon your children and their friends. Although not deliberately, they are the reason Arian escaped. But Leila here will help us find him, isn't that right?'

'Better send the pup home, or she'll get hurt.' Heila crossed her arms over her chest.

'You two are not much stronger than Arian, and she held you back for longer than expected.' Crestel pointed towards Twilight's Talon.

'I didn't expand the generous sum of coin for her to be weak,' Father said.

'You paid Rollyn to train me?' I asked.

His frown deepened. 'At my insistence,' he reassured.

My father never pulled his punches when he spoke. Everything, even speaking, was a sword fight. He knew how to faint, parry, block, lead, and attack in a conversation. He did it for fun. As simple as fighting a physical battle. He and Honey-Tongue could wage war. But I have since stepped from my father's shadow and stand within my own rights. His glare didn't cower me anymore; the fear I once had for him gone. It's been a year, and I was born anew. A persona that didn't need validation for my strength. 'If you don't mind, Ambassador. I will take my leave.'

'My words are orders. Right now, I am not the Ambassador of Valenwood. I am the Battlereeve of the Ranger Guard.'

'A title that has no real meaning in Valenwood's culture,' I snapped. 'You? The champion of our province? For all the crowds that adore you, it is the people who are closest to you that hate you the most. Why is that Father?' I squared my body with his. 'Because you don't believe in having equals. The only person you respected was Mother and look how that ended for us. For the past year, my skills have far exceeded anything that your gold bought for me. Rollyn is dead, Mother is dead, but I'm alive. Milkar and Aranwen are alive, and we're the real champions, Father.' I shrugged and walked passed him. 'My friends need me, the people of Valenwood need me, so if you don't mind. I will be taking my leave.'

Neilo let out a long, exasperated whistle.

Father didn't say a word.

Crestel cleared his throat. 'Leila,' he said. 'Our deal?'

'I have but one question for my father and when he answers it, I'll go with you to find Arian.' Crestel stepped to the side, revealing my father's sullen frown. 'Why are you allowing the Tam'Akar to exterminate the wild Bosmer?'


	23. Splintered

_"Milkar Lockharte was a once-in-a-generation genius. It might not have seemed so, but that was the truth. In all my study of history, his shrewd planning, calculated maneuvering, and ingenious puppeteering were traits found only in Tiber Septim." -Rollyn The Special_

* * *

Chapter 23: Splintered

Father turned from me, his cape whipping with the motion. When I heard the scoff and the arrogant dismissal, I felt pain simmer inside my chest. I thought, when I left home, he'd expand his vast resources to search for me. Perhaps he would've thought me captured by an enemy, somehow taken in. If he cared, he would've sent his Ranger Guard. He didn't care that I was gone. He didn't care now. Even as I stand before him, appealing to such emotions isn't his way. I noticed, at that moment, that I didn't truly know my father. I couldn't read him throughout the years. Not like I knew Tutor Rollyn.

In the end, despite carrying my father's coin for the duration of my training, I knew there was no amount of gold, copper, or silver worth the blood and sweat shed between the two of us. What Rollyn taught me in this life was invaluable. But here, standing before me, this Mer was no more than a Mer with a political agenda. When his children turned out to be weaker than he or Ara of the Ghost Bow, he decided to abandon us.

He was no father of mine.

'As I thought,' I said.

Crestel let out a sigh. 'Leila, if we find Arian, we may find your friends.'

'If I find my friends, I may find Arian. And if I do, I'll kill him and save you the trouble.'

The space between Crestel's eyebrows wrinkled. 'Valenwood law holds that you obey the orders of the Battlereeve. No matter who you are.'

I shrugged. 'I care not for the laws of the Dominion.'

Crestel's short swords scraped free of their scabbard. I held Twilight's Talon close. My earlier fight with the Goldenseed twins began to take its toll. My shoulders burned with swings of my sword, and my legs throbbed. Maneuvering in another fight was impossible. I would have to escape.

I whipped my sword and pretended to weigh its balance. With my other hand, I slipped a magicae ball from a pocket. The small condensed ball of magicka thrummed between my index and middle fingers. As Crestel took a defensive position, I pulled my hand up and down to discharge the magicae ball.

'That's—she's trying to escape!' Heila exclaimed, jumping clear.

The ball of magicka exploded in a mass of black feathers, swirling with magnificent winds as powerful as the earlier storm. The feathers whipped around in all directions, confusing the Elder Guard members and my father. I knew the clear path to freedom and turned to run. The winds tugged and pushed my body making it nearly impossible to go in the direction I wanted. It was thanks to Twilight's Talon that could cut and absorb magicka that made it possible.

I moved to run but felt a sudden tug on my forearm. I turned to see Father's hand wrapped tightly around mine. I swung furiously at him, but he simply blocked the blow with a palm. I slid my foot upward and tried to kick his head, but my father bent his neck allowing my kick to fly over him. Next, he grabbed my collar and tried to ground slam me. I vaulted over him, managing to roll my slenderness over his shoulders. I had only just realized that he switched position on my forearm and in doing such a maneuver would break my arm. Too late to react, I slid from his front to his back, the tendons in my arm twisted and pinched and squeezed. Only by some miracle did my father let go of my arm and allowed me to clear him with no issue. As I landed behind him, I glanced the old bastard.

There was a small hint of a smile before he disappeared behind the storm of black feathers.

Seeing my father left a bad taste in my mouth. There was no other way to describe my escape but that he let me go. They all must have let me go. Cheap tricks wouldn't have stopped the top warriors of Valenwood as easily as that.

I gathered no signs that I was being followed sparing a glance back. It was a good thing too—the bloodlust was boiling in me around such powerful fighters. Father openly mocked Milkar's dream, and I wasn't going to listen. He didn't see me for the warrior I was; he didn't take me seriously. He never did. I wouldn't be in these woods, searching for the Silver Crescents of he did. Faeden Lockharte was the splinter that veered me off of a paralleled path with my mother.

I landed on a slanted bough leaning into a pond created by the recent storm. Something on the far side captured my attention. I took several steps backward to increase my running start. In midair, I grappled a vine and swung across landing on another tree branch. Hanging from above where the two forms of Sickle and Ceril. I touched Ceril, and she wriggled.

'Alive,' I sighed.

I did the same for Sickle, but the elf just snorted while mumbling under his breath. They both hit the bark with a thud when I cut the vine that suspended them.

'Ow!' Ceril cried. She rubbed her head surveying the area.

I had to give Sickle a bit of a kick to fully awaken him.

'Wake up,' I told them. 'We need to leave now.'

'Where are Elren and Aranwen?' Ceril asked, suffering from the swirling vision.

'I was going to ask you the same thing,' I said. 'Wake up!' I clobbered Sickle until he snapped up.

'We don't know.' Ceril tried to stand but her legs buckled, and she slid down. 'We escaped those two Elder Guard people and then…' Ceril looked up puzzled, '…we were running, and everything went black.'

'Did you feel a sharp prick before everything went black?' I asked. 'Like being stabbed with a needle.'

'A dart,' she said. 'Damn bastards hit us with a dart! I saw two catch Sickle Ear in his gut, and before I could react, one in got me on my neck.'

I squeezed a fist. 'What are we dealing with here?'

'Sounds like wild Bosmer.' Sickle nodded. 'Yeah! We dealin' with a good old royal tribe out here. But who?' Sickle looked down at the sigils tattooed on his wrist. 'Wild Bosmer ain't supposed to attack other wild Bosmer. Not in these troubled times. We must stick together.'

'I think they have Elren.' I searched the surrounding forest. I had the sudden feeling someone was watching us. I hated that.

Finally, Ceril stood but on legs that shivered. The poison was subsiding. 'They got you too, huh?'

I nodded.

'Why did they tie us up?'

'Most likely to move us out of their territory,' I explained. 'We were on the outskirt forest surrounding Southpoint.' I smashed a fist into my palm. 'It doesn't make sense. Why would they attack us?'

Sickle groaned. 'In this age? Diplomacy ain't helped our people any. We're lucky that wild Bosmer ain't violent. Instead they only moved us to a different tree.'

I turned to the grove from where, whomever these Bosmer were, paralyzed us with poisonous darts. 'Could Elren and Aranwen be in there?'

'Don't worry, Milkar, Esmond, and everyone else decided to tag along as well.'

'Great, it's a whole family reunion.' I cursed. 'We're fighting a war on three fronts; we don't need another enemy.'

'Then we should gather the others and retreat back to Shimmer Root,' Ceril suggested. 'By the look of it, we could be decimated with ease if we don't,'

Ceril watched me disagree internally. 'Monsotar is still growing, becoming stronger. We won't win until we stunt every opportunity he has to grow further,' I said.

I couldn't pin this guilt on anything else. These two were a peaceful duo, but they pledged their loyalty to the Silver Crescents to stop Monsotar and the ravaging purges of the Tam'Akar. They'd entrusted Milkar as I and the rest of us have. But fighting was still an odd concept despite having to fight for survival in the way that they do. Interclan battles halted when the Tam'Akar arrived, and most of the Greenpact Bosmer that didn't conform to the Thalmor went into hiding. It's quite sad if one were to dwell on it for any long period of time. I knew fighting was not their way, but there are necessary evils. Perhaps today is what their sacrifice of peace will lead. Today could be the day Monsotar comes from his shadows and meet his end to my bloodlust.

We moved through the forest slowly, part not to attract attention by the ones protecting it with their needle darts and poison, and part because the needle darts and poison that already found our flesh. Our movements were still slow despite the poison thinning in our blood. These Greenpact Bosmer were smart. Paralyzing us from afar was only the warning. That poison could have prevented us from every awakening again.

'Leila!' Exclaims rose from the other Crescents.

I landed next to Esmond and Milkar with ten other Crescents. 'Brother.'

Milkar hailed me over.

'Good of you to join us,' I nodded towards my brother.

Esmond lifted a hand and spoke an incantation. A spurt of light misted through me then through Ceril and Sickle. The healing spell soothed my aches and erased any lasting effects of the paralytic poison. 'Well, aren't you useful for something, old man.'

'Leila, where's Aranwen and Elren?' Milkar asked.

My brother didn't have the face of banter, he was serious and wanted answers. 'I was hoping you knew. We were attacked. Oh, and Father is here with Crestel and the Goldenseed twins.'

'They must know Arian is out of hiding,' Milkar said, plucking the ring hanging from his nose. He turned to Esmond. 'How should we proceed?'

'Arian was a seat in the Elder Guard and is now a Nightblade in Monsotar's personal order of Crows. He will know how to hide his tracks from either of us. Any conventional way won't work against him.' Esmond clapped his hand, and a white flashed bounced from his hands and slid across the floor snaking its way through the forest. Esmond closed his eyes the reopened them, shaking his head.

'Search for Aranwen instead. Maybe he's with him.'

Esmond glanced down with his yellow framed eyes. The light of _clairvoyance_ shifted and led deeper into the forest. A soft voice in our ear leading us to my brother. 'He isn't too far, and he's not alone.'

'So be it,' Milkar said. 'We follow Aranwen's trail in the hope he has found Arian.' Milkar turned to me. 'Did Father hint at anything about Aridiil and his intentions?'

'Crestel said that the Elder Guard knows the Tam'Akar's actions. They just need the necessary evidence to take action against them. Father has yet to comment.'

'They can't operate against the Thalmor's pet project without being subjugated to a probe,' Milkar explained. 'Even as an ambassador and the Battlereeve, Father is left with no choice but to sit back and watch Aridiil carry out the Inquisition.'

'But we know what Aridiil is doing is illegal, even in the eyes of the Thalmor.'

Milkar nodded. 'It might be illegal in the eyes of the people, but these orders come from the highest echelon. If we kill Aridiil, we won't be redeemed—he has the protection of the people's hearts.'

'There's only one option left, Milkar.'

'Who would shoulder that much of a burden? That's a fundamental flaw in your view, my sister. The person that we chose will need to die by our doing.'

The Silver Crescents began to glance curiously at each other. These Bosmer were all criminals of different types. Selfish in their nature. The only sacrifice would be the drop of a silver to make two gold septims in profit. No one would forfeit their lives so that others could thrive in this. We called ourselves a guild of thieves, but we were rebels of a resistance. I never wanted these labels; I wasn't particularly good at thievery. I merely wanted to help Valenwood.

'Aranwen's on the move,' Esmond said. 'We should go.'

'What about Father?'

'There's no time to bother with him,' Milkar said 'Our priority is to stop Arian.'

'Aranwen practically gave those swords to him. I tried to kill Arian, but he wouldn't let me. Not even Elren…'

'As I suspected you would make such choices, Leila. You have ever since joining our cause.' We followed Esmond from tree to tree. 'There's a fire about you that burns cold and will only go out when everything is dust.'

Somewhere along the way, I splintered off from the morality of my brother's and set my feet on a new path. A dark one. It's the longest one that I could see, and it holds the truth of the end goal that my brother holds. This world and all its frailties must be hard charged. I promised my brother that he would see the world under his thumb, that's a promise of a lifetime, no matter the cost, I will deliver on it.

'Esmond,' I called. The half Bosmer looked at me with a striking green-yellow eye; a single pupil constricted down to a fine black dot. 'When you worked for Monsotar, how long did it take to understand that what you committed to wasn't in your heart?'

Esmond didn't answer immediately, and I considered how it must feel to explore such memories. Know every corner of your past, rove over the edges that chip and shape you. Be careful not to find the memories that cut you the deepest.

He pursed those pale lips of his to a thin line then parted them to speak. 'I was the best of them,' he said. 'I did horrible things thinking they would have been best for Valenwood. I couldn't do it anymore. Even when such horrors was for the better.'

'Were you wrong?'

'Most of the time, it isn't about what's right and wrong. Too many grey areas to drown in. Just make sure you believe in those lies you tell yourself, it'll make your path more bearable.'

In the center of a valley between trees, Aranwen stood in a finger of light. A river of blood ran down the center of his face, armor torned nearly to shreds. His emerald eyes were lost to the sky above. He was a pillar of cultivated power, my brother. Gwendalyn laid at his feet, bleeding.

'Aranwen…' Milkar pulled up to our brother.

I hadn't noticed the tears falling from his eyes.

'She isn't dead,' Esmond said and started with his spells and weaves.

'What happened?' I asked.

'I'm sorry, Leila.' Aranwen looked down at Gwendalyn's motionless body. 'I'm…sorry.'

'Honey-Tongue is dead,' I said. I was sure of it. 'She went after Arian and tried to kill him herself. Got beat pretty bad, but she's alive.'

Aranwen nodded, confirming the obvious. My brother retreated into that lonely place where all mortals retreat. Moral integrity is like glass. The world continuously hammers and hammers until all that's left is the powder of fine sand ready to cut; ready to bleed you dry.

Before my very eyes, I watched Milkar step to Aranwen. Close, the two were. Aranwen looked like a small boy like a son wanting the love of a parent. He craved love just like I did, like Elren, and like Milkar. We were lost children in the forest, looking to the sun to replace a warmth that we lost when our parents left us behind. So, Milkar stepped to Aranwen, he raised his arm and embraced him. It wasn't just a pat on the back, a meager comfort you give someone when you don't contend with their feelings. This was a real feeling, love between brothers.

We didn't have Mother, and Father left us with tutors and masters. We didn't know that love. When Milkar looked up at us, it was like we all knew what he was thinking in that breath. For once, those eyes told stories and commands, grievances and sorrows.

'We find him, and we kill him.'

A simple command, pure in its right. The block on my mind dissipated. We kill him. He says "we" because it'll be done in the name of the Silver Crescents. It won't be criminals killing a hero. It'll be heroes killing a criminal.

'Find him?' Aranwen said into Milkar's chest.

The slow rise of Aranwen's hand racked the nerves and put fresh goosebumps exploding along my arms. I followed the length of his finger and the direction it set out eyes in. The other members set to murmur.

'A trap?' Milkar sounded amused.

The Silver Crescents began to curse. 'We're surrounded.' A tough looking Crescent said. He had missing teeth but a strong jawline.

'That's good for us. We can attack in all directions!' Another said carrying a longbow.

Agreements followed in such manner.

Above, a finger of light highlighted Arian's tattooed baldness.

'This is the end,' Arian said.

Was it the end? Dread was a feeling I was familiar with. That impending doom that told us that our death was just on the horizon waiting to deliver us to Aetherius. This was not that feeling, not at all. Even as the winds blew the trees and made the leaves hiss and the trees sing, even as it carried the aroma of dirt and plant and flower, I felt peace within that moment. The calm before the storm. The whisper of sweet purity. Very few knew this—warmongers, battle-hardened vets, and endearing warriors. Those who love to fight knew this. This was not the end, but the beginning of the splinter.

It's funny it wasn't my own tutor that taught me this. But a simple day of the spring, where I learned that even the strong are infallible. My brothers were infallible. They needed me, but I didn't need them. I was merely the choice—the hard choice, but the only one logically made.

What did the Silver Crescents need to reach the top? They needed someone that could go below. A killer whose name must be tainted. The people will say "that Black Raven is evil. She's a murderer, a thief, a terrorist. Damn her." But they will look to Milkar and see a savior, a pillar of light, and the only person they could trust.

To me, the raven is the ultimate rogue, rebelling from a world with its bad omens and black feathers. Deep into the darkness, peering long. I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, and dreaming things no other mortal has dreamed before.

A shroud of black feathers came before us. A cloud of it blocked out the sun. Before me, one bit hard into the bark. 'Arrow?'

Physically, I stood with my brothers; I stood with the Crescents. But in my heart, I transcended them. I no longer saw myself as anything other than that arrow. An arrow raced towards my head.

I raised a hand and caught the shaft just before the tip touched my skin. It hadn't even pierced it yet, but I felt the vibrations, the eagerness in which the archer that fired it felt. It reverberated down my forearm into the muscle of my shoulders. In the glint of the arrow tip, refined malachite glass, I saw myself. My hair had gone wild, bags formed under my eyes, dilated pupils as if death was the drug. Sweat glistened my forehead and rolled to my cheeks.

In my escape from Ara's destiny, I became her.

'Leila!' Milkar's voice.

Twilight's Talon grated the inside of its scabbard and ate the light with its carving. The ebony-chased Iron-bark began to glow and a thin veil of ghastly magicka formed on our branch. The ward stretched from one end to the next, shielding the Silver Crescents for hailing of malachite arrows.

'Pick your targets, Crescents.' Milkar withdrew Pondus. His eyes fell dead on Arian.

'We are outnumbered, and they have the higher ground. But that does not mean we'll lose.' Milkar raised his sword toward Aranwen's old master. 'That Bosmer is a direct representation of what's wrong with Valenwood today. You've all been wronged by Monsotar in some way; today is the day you will redeem yourself as rogues of the highest caliber. This world has denied you for no longer! Breathe this power that I give you, harness it, take with it what you want from this world and don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't. Show these Thieves of the Wood what a true rogue is all about!'

I gripped my hilt and dispersed the ward, rippling power pulsated from the blade and blasted outwardly towards the line of enemies. It cut through them and bodies fell from the tall trees. One by one from behind the foliage. More moved forward to take their place, but I'd already given the Silver Crescents enough time to make close the gap between them and the Thieves of the Wood. The clashing began before I lowered my arm.

'He's stronger than the both of us,' Milkar said, taking the few steps to my side.

'Modest Milkar,' I chuckled.

'Livid Leila,' he replied.

Arian somersaulted and landed on a branch parallel to ours. Terrarend in his right, a Malachite and moonstone sword forged by blacksmiths of old and enchanted by a Thornbush, master enchanter. The third longsword was a nasty looking thing. As if a death hound was baring its serrated teeth to the world, it only needed drool to complement its menace. Terrarend and Spell Thorn were powerful, but there was something about the first king's third sword that seemed off. Everyone speaks of the famed weapons carried by famed people. Everyone speaks of Mother's skill but forget that she wielded daedric enchantments on her skin. The _Ghost Flame_ was not of this world but of the planes of Oblivion. Thornbush merely created that connection.

'We all have darkness inside of us,' Arian said. 'Tools to execute the damning things that everyone else is too cowardly to commit themselves. We look at ourselves long and hard in the glass mirrors of the dwarves and see some of it in us. We rebels have strived to understand this darkness and noticed that it doesn't fit into the world. But what does that mean, you think?' Arian stepped forward, feeling the pillar of light bathe over his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in the warmth. 'Every soul has a darkness of different degrees; it is these degrees that make the world rot or grow. Too much light and you burn, too much darkness and you invite decay.'

I clocked my head to the side. 'Do you believe the Thalmor's vision for the world is wrong? Monsotar's? Whose degree of darkness should anyone follow but our own?'

Arian tested his eyes on me. Around us, the Thieves of the Wood converged on the Crescents, and the fighting ensued. 'The Thalmor brings purity of light. Monsotar is darkness. When these two clashes, it balances. But now, the Tam'Akar has brought their draconian light, and they will win.'

'So, you've aligned with Monsotar to help balance the scale?' I asked.

Arian nodded.

'Who cares about light and darkness in this world of emerald? My world. Here you face silver and violet—the lightest of lights and darkest of darks. We are that middle that will settle Valenwood.' Milkar raised Pondus to Arian.

'I wish it were true, Milkar. But you are not yet ready. And there are years yet till you are.' Arian took his stance.

The Silver Crescents was the grey, but I wasn't grey. My heart didn't have it. I wasn't like Milkar or Aranwen. I was darker than that.

Arian pounced on Milkar with speed. I turned my sword up for the lunge as the two Bosmer clashed, but Arian anticipated my move and spun Milkar's back facing me. With my brother in the way, I was forced to maneuver around him. The two began to duel in a blur of sparks and steel. Their swords moved too fast for my eyes to follow. Here was Arian, the tenth seat of an elite warrior's guild and my brother, the prodigal son of two legends.

Milkar slipped out of the exchange, and I waved my sword in through Arian. He fainted left and lunged in with Terrarend, I caught the move quickly with a parry but left myself open to the counter, only I knew Milkar would intervene just then clanking the serrated edge of the sword from making ribbons of my flesh. Arian spun around, leaving me to hack but his spinning motion was a defense.

I grabbed the hilt with both hands and rolled my wrist, pointing the edge of Twilight's Talon down then dragged the sword in an arching line upward. I pushed off my feet as the momentum of the Iron-Bark carried me up through an ark, spinning until my feet were above Arian's head. My blade broke through his defense, leaving him exposed. Milkar, still a few places too far from Arian, activated Pondus' enchantment and closed the gap in the time it takes to blink an eye. Arian's eyes widened, and I thought we had him. I was wrong.

Milkar's sword carved through Arian's body, slipping into his flesh and through it. When his sword came through the other side, I knew something was wrong. Arian's palm combusted full of heat and flame, and I skipped away just in time for the spell to miss me. Milkar stood his ground and allowed the fire to wash over him. Air caught in my lungs.

'Stand your ground, Leila.' Milkar said.

There were no visible wounds on Arian. 'What?'

Milkar used his swords enchantment again. This time he plunged his sword deep into Arian's gut. The Crow didn't flinch an inch. I watched the flesh around Milkar's blade. When a sword bites into a mer, blood, and wetness from the inside makes it squelch. This was different. This wasn't a death blow or a blow at all.

' _Spirit Fade_ ,' Milkar said. 'It seems Monsotar has kept a lot of Esmond's old spells.'

'You cannot win, Milkar.'

'I never did like you. Aranwen should've trained with Rollyn like Leila, and I did.'

Arian's lips fell into a frown. 'This isn't the time for frivolous insults.'

'You know, you keep saying that the Silver Crescents aren't strong enough to destroy the Tam'Akar. Perhaps looking at us now, we aren't. If Aridiil wanted to, he could snap us all with a single finger. But what you forget, Arian is that we aren't going after the Tam'Akar. You see… we've already figured that the blindness of the public is their greatest protection. But Monsotar? And all his little chickens? That's our target.' Milkar patted his leathers. 'And don't you dare tell me we can't win against _him_.'

Around us, the Crescents fought a war with the Thieves of the Wood. Aranwen was numbingly carving through their numbers, more ruthlessness in his sword arms. His limbs reacted separate from his mind, his eyes seeing but not seeing. Sickle Ear came into his own—more power in his bulky arms than intimidation in his opponents. They looked like mice to a skeever. Ceril whipped through them with her lightning blades, sharp movements zipping like a bee protecting its hive. In some ways, she was exactly that—a bee protecting its hive.

Grumworm, Sintu, Lokel, Foren, Lykil, Silent Rikey, and Sister Sip were the only Crescent members in my immediate sight, locked in their fights. Something had to be said with the quality of my family. A quality rogue is indicative of not only how they move in a fight but how well they move in life. Death shouldn't be an odd thing to anyone on Tamriel, but it's still a sting with certain venoms. I watched Sister Sip go first. Her knife slipped her blood sleek hands leaving her with nothing. One of them got his blade stuck between her middle and ring finger, slicing all the way through her forearm before wedging in that funny area people were wont to laugh when knocked. Others converged, and she vanished behind axes and swords. The others fell in the same manner, cut down by the sheer numbers of Monsotar's men.

I watched this in the recesses of my peripherals, seeing the hurtful truth before hearing the comfort of Milkar's words. We were losing.

'Is there any way we can hurt him,' I said, keeping my voice low.

'No,' said Milkar, even lower. 'Not unless he dispels his _Spirit Fade_.'

I gritted my teeth. I turned my blade parallel with the ground and held it straight back, over the shoulder, pointing at Arian. I felt its power trickle through the blade.

Arian's plea didn't go unnoticed. Announcing his heart eveen after striking many blows. We chased him in the end; we were the reason for our own losses. But he chose the wrong side.

A half-moon's night ago, Esmond stepped to me, pipe in hand looking for a proper friend to smoke with. I took his pipe then. "Why do you follow your brother? Truthfully, any mindful rogue could do what he does." He told me blowing circles with his lips.

"Because Milkar will win" is what I said.

Because he _will_ win, that I was sure. Even if he won't and I will. He wins. No matter what.

'Milkar,' I said. 'Take the others and retreat.'

'There's too many of them to retreat.'

'What?'

'Fight, Leila.'

I growled. I looked back across the trees and saw a longer number of uniformed thieves peering over the boughs and tree stars. Curses stifled on my tongue. I forfeited my stance and pushed Twilight's Talon back into its scabbard. 'We're done.' Milkar did the same.

Arian nodded and raised his hand in the air. The fighting stopped. What little members of the Silver Crescents remained was standing before the mer that would kill them. In life, there's the coward's surrender, and then there's the surrendering tactic—a paradox of the mortal's mind. When waging war on an enemy, there are the smaller battles then there are the bigger battles. But sometimes a win at a cost isn't a win at all, and a loss could mean winning in the long run. If you could still fight, you could still win.

Although Arian is a warrior by profession, he has no fondness for war. I could see it in his eyes and the way he swings a blade. Such an elf could have killed us time and time again, but he didn't. Such softness was weakness. It doesn't go unnoticed.

Arian slipped bonds from his belt and closed the gap between him and me. I waited, keeping the shake in my hands hidden.

'You've made the right choice, children of Ara.' Arian took my hand. Drunkenness numbed my body. My hand moved on its own.

'If we made the right choice, Arian the Brave, then we'd be home sleeping.' I decided to fight.

In the end, the flesh of the throat always gives, be it metal, bone, or the force of thrust fingers.


	24. Death of the Silver Crescents

_I spent more time in the Thieves of the Wood than in the Silver Crescents. However, my heart was part of neither. I was merely a by-product of the grounded darkness the Woods knew and the gallantry of the Crescents._

* * *

Chapter 24: Death of the Silver Crescents

They pulled us on Fellhogs. Giant, snorting things that could hold and pull more weight than the blubber on their bones. Our weapons were in a cart towards the back, too far to try for. The binding on my hands made raw my wrists, an hour of gnawing proved these ropes enchanted. Everyone else walked on in silence, unable to acknowledge each other. We fought, and we lost, it was as simple as that.

Arian's blood still dripped from my body. You can bleed several colors from a Mer. Red and deep arterial, some purple from the veins, the greens of the bile, nasty and smelly browns from the gut, but they all dry the color of rust and black muck. The scene replayed in my mind over and over and over. I quick thrust, fingernails dug, broke, and parted the skin. That choke when they want to say something, but the blood has their airways. There's something primal about killing a Mer with your bare hands, it puts you closer to the gods than you would ever think.

The retaliation was quicker than I thought. My impulsive stupidity cost the lives of the remaining. That was my fault and something I will live with for the rest of my life. But it's done. Who needs to regret? My goal was simple.

Gwendalyn awakened shortly after the bounds clasped around her wrists, and she hasn't stopped cursing since. Aranwen looked the worst of us aside having no physical injuries. I killed his master before his very eyes—easy as easy. After his pleas for me not to. We needed to.

There were over thirty members of the Thieves of the Wood set beside us as we traveled. Already double the amount the Silver Crescents had before today. But now, all that remained of us were Esmond, Aranwen, Milkar, Gwendalyn, the tribesmen, and I. Elren was still missing, and I wondered if he was up among the trees, waiting for the right opportunity to rescue us from our captures. I watched the Woods as the lumbered on beside us. They seemed more like brutes than anything, and besides the stripes of green running along their cloaks and scarves, their armor didn't match Monsotar's usual. They weren't like the Silver Crescents, these Mer, the Thieves of the Wood was a lake where every animal took a drink. Bandits, Highwaymen, petty thieves, pickpockets, and dark figures had their little fingers in the waters. The Silver Crescents were like the finely clothed mer- _kin_ sipping fine wine from studded goblets. The Thieves of the Wood consisted of several brotherhoods swearing fealty to one Bosmer sitting at the top. Here it seems we got the bottom of the barrel.

'I know where they're taking us,' Esmond said, ahead.

'Can't you use _telekinesis_?' I asked the master illusionist.

'These ropes are suppressing my magicka.' Esmond fumbled with the thick knots around his wrists. 'It's the same enchantment the magistrate used during my confinement.'

'Dammit.'

I spied the others who walked on with their own efforts to escape, confidence shivering away. Aranwen couldn't look me in the eye. The bright, smiling soul had fallen somewhere in the previous day. Aranwen was never like us—never like me. I didn't know if Milkar had a plan if this whole thing was a ploy, or even if he was admitting defeat, but I never took him for having half measures. You don't half love, half betray, you sure as the Void don't throw away your life on one. I tuned into Gwendalyn's excessive cursing and indecorous shouting finally. The girl had spirit and a lot more energy than one should after coming close to death twice in the span of a day. Ceril and Sickle Ear walked on in silence, the fear written on their sinless faces. I promised Chieftain Gleril that I would protect them both and bring them home when this was all done.

We dabbled in some powerful forces, the Silver Crescents. We managed to hit hard, sharp, and we took in no consideration the scale of which we were up against. A single needle that tries to penetrate a stone wall will bend and fold on itself. We were out of our league; Arian had been right all along.

'We can't go on,' I said and stopped only to have my shoulder nearly separate from the rest of my body.

'Keep moving,' one of the Woods' members commanded. 'We're almost there.'

I looked around, frantic in my heart. There was hurt in my mind. I made a promise, to Milkar, to my mother in her grave, and to all Tamriel. I made myself believe it wasn't the ramblings of a young girl in adolescence. The trees began to swim, circling my world over and over. The green roof became a churning sea. 'We can't…' I took a knee earning a long snort from the Fellhog as it jerked its sniveling snout forward, lurching me forward.

'Leila.' Milkar's voice.

I pulled my head up from the mud and caught my brother. In that single moment, I felt like something had changed. The world around me that was thick with life crumbled away like a dead leaf. 'Brother?'

Milkar's emerald eyes shone as they always did. Such a life-giving, small wonder. A testament of Mother's legend. Milkar wore no smile, no frown, no expression discerning some truth I thought I could prospect. Were we going to die? He shook his head, a gesture of pity. Sweat began to bead all over my body despite the coolness of the forest floor. Heat rushed around and through my skin as if an inferno awaited. The air was arid and left my lips dry and cracked. Arian's blood turned hard tar clinging to my skin.

'Do you trust me?' Milkar asked.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say, or what to do. Despite my courage, despite the surety of my resolve, a death by these Mer, these so-called Bosmer that wanted nothing but the destruction of their own culture, was unfathomable. It's something I could never accept, never comprehend, or allow. Do you trust me? A short simple question. Do you trust me? No. No. No. I don't trust you Milkar. You half measured. You spoke words to a young girl who didn't know any better. Who didn't know what a half measure was. You got us killed, my brother. Do you trust me? You were supposed to be stronger than this. Smarter. I did trust you, Milkar. I did.

But it was time to trust me.

This was the plan all along. Fall at the hands of Monsotar Handseed, at the whim of the Thieves of the Wood.

As Gwendalyn entered the third stage of grief, I somehow managed to skip the redundant bits. My head was too heavy, so it slung. I swore to the ground, to the mud, I swore at everything that brought me to this point. My path was supposed to be of my making. But, I suppose, it took death to show me that it was never under my control. How could I have thought it differently? The stars wrote my story in the constellations of the rogue, but I was too blind to see it. In plain sight, dotted in the night sky. When you live your life flying, it'll never occur to you to look up.

I took another step, and we entered a world of brimstone and soot. That smell—that horrible smell of life burned away. The same smell of fire from that night in the Hall of Heroes. Do you trust me? My foot touched blackened soil, scorched to oblivion. Dust tufted into the air. Black ash so light, the gentlest of touches released its cling to the ground. Every step sent plumes of it flying up. We moved through a cloud of it, Gwendalyn was already coughing. Finally, I looked at the world around me only to find a world unrecognizable.

We entered a clearing of no natural make. Fires alight, smoldering of Y'ffre's garden, a dry wind. There were no songs of the fauna, no crick, and creak of critters, just the fire. Or what remained of one.

'This was done months ago,' Esmond said. 'But that's impossible. We would've seen something of this scale.'

No trees were standing. No trees already felled. There were only ash and smoldering coal. Despite all the rains that have come and gone, and days that have past, this place looked only recent. It wasn't. A scab on the land as if we were small people walking through the pit of a dying hearth. My heart hurt for the land of the burned.

I drifted my gaze towards the figures in the center. Figures, I say, but what I meant was tyrants. I kicked forward, stepping a cloud of ash in my wake. It clung to the blotches of red that didn't dry. The last remnants of Arian making a red and grey soup of things. Rindiel was the first I noticed. In his bone armor, he looked the same as when I first met him during the raid on Monsotar's mansion. There were others too. They all wore the same despicable sash. A murder of crows boomed from the forest on the far side, the only life willing to come to these new deadlands. The black speckles swarmed and gawked in a circle above.

A female Mer in a tight leather jerkin smirked. She was plump of bosom and hip and rosy in the cheeks. Half Bosmer and perhaps Nordic for her size. A thick belt sitting on her waist held a long, broadsword of gleaming elven moonstone. I knew her from Esmond's warnings: Sevyn Lichen-Ghost. And the others too. There was a tall, lanky Bosmer, sharp of tooth, eyes the color of a faded lily pad, and a hunch to his back. He was Disnel of the Misty Willows. A grove that was known for the disappearances of unsuspecting ladies. The third Bosmer looked as if the Wild Hunt took him many years ago but retaining his intelligence. He frightened me with that stare—a horrible thing to haunt the dreams. Barrel-chested, thunder waisted, and a nasty three-striped scar detailed the man. He was no Bosmer, he couldn't be. His skin, once liquefied in some parts, like molten rock folding on itself then freezing in place, gave him a monstrous appearance.

These were the ones, our dear friend, the ex-crow told us about. Monsotar's very own line of freaks. The Crows—his Murder. Generals in the legion that was the Thieves of the Wood.

Then, there he was. The closest thing to a Dremora I will ever reach. He stood among his Crows, the leader of the Murder. Mother fought black souls filled with hatred from the depths of the deadlands. Those were killers, warriors of the highest caliber manifested of the darkest energies Oblivion can muster. This Bosmer I had no words for. This Bosmer, I can't begin to explain to anyone the gravitas that revolved his world like an intense evil. I could feel it. An ominous presence radiated off his being. The prickles on my back screamed danger. My world went numb with a fear I never sensed before.

He was nothing of what I expected. No where near. A three-buckle vest fell open over broad shoulders, leaving bare a rippling, striated chest. Muscles moved like feathers under tight skin. From the cliffs of his chest fell into the mounds of his belly, each neat row looked chiseled by the gods to perfection. Monsotar stared from jade eyes hidden under a ridged brow and expertly framed eyebrows; one raised in amusement. Thick, bow-curved lips spoke among his Crows, giving quick glances back at us. He was young with a full head of auburn hair. His body had muscle I never learned in Tutor Rollyn's anatomy books. And of course, there was that, hanging from his hip was a sheathed sword. _The_ Sword. Augoth Thornbush's greatest shame: the Goldfire.

The Fellhogs stopped, and the bandits untied the front of the ropes from the saddles. It took six Mer to drag us across the scorched field. No one will cry here when we die. We'll burn by his sword until we're nothing but ash and dust to wash into the ground.

I saw no solace on Milkar's face. No cleverness waiting to spring. Do you trust me? I trusted to die. Mer weren't always so simple, but this was. For the past year, we've made Monsotar and his guild our enemy, blocking them at every advantage. It was because of them that my blade had to carve more Bosmer flesh than I would like to admit. If it weren't for their fidelity, perhaps they would have joined the Silver Crescents to work the world, their world, to become a brighter place for all.

The Thieves of the Wood dropped us to our knees, lined in a neat row like pigs for the slaughter under the butcher's hammer and head nail.

I've never seen anyone so beautiful and so ugly. Monsotar's eyes slowly looked over us like a wolf slowly tantalizing over something it wasn't sure it wanted to kill now or later. One wrapped boot after the next, he stopped before Esmond. The old Master Enchanter raised an eyebrow at his old friend. A ghost memory brushed over their faces—a different time, a different place.

'Master Esmond, you look well,' Monsotar said. He voice was deep, confident, and it held you.

My heartbeat thrummed in my ears, my eyes flooded with water, and my mouth slickened.

'Monsotar,' Esmond mumbled.

Esmond kneeled at my right, Milkar on my left, and Aranwen to the left of him. Sickle Ear and Ceril were to the right of Esmond, and Gwendalyn on the farthest side.

'What do we do from here, Master?' Monsotar grasped a handful of ash, he opened his palm and let the wind take the dust to the air. 'Where does one reconcile after all the hatred that has congested the space between us?'

'Those are questions for the one without bonds on his hands.'

Monsotar looked up at that, eyeing his old master discernably. Such sharp eyes can cut Yokudan ebony. 'I have many questions, illusionist.' He reached with soft hands and ran it through Esmond's greys. 'And surely you all have the answers, not me.' Monsotar stood up.

Monsotar slipped Goldfire from its sheath. It instantaneously pushed me into a dry desert heat. A glorious, luminous, and gleaming gold blinded me for a moment and took the water from my lips and tongue. Goldfire was powerful, perhaps more powerful than Twilight's Talon. Its hilt sported a circular crossguard and a straight handle wrapped in porous leather with no pommel. A simple make.

It's the slightest twitch in the muscles of his shoulder that a fighter would recognize. Some people could even tell your moves ten steps early just by reading the small muscle fibers underneath the skin. I looked at my brother in the in-between space of the notches in time. I remember the words he only just asked me not so long ago; they seemed like an eternity ago. Do you trust me? I never trusted you, Milkar. But I loved you. For all your faults, I loved you. Even when I questioned your judgment, the latency of your own plan. When I wondered how far you were going to push me into the darkness, I loved you. I loved the plan you set forth, and the Raven you awoke within me.

I loved him even now as the gleaming hot sword pierced his chest; as it surged forward; and as it emerged the other side, steaming. Say it again so I could give you an answer. Do I trust you? Do I trust you? From this day forward, I won't need to. I won't need to trust anyone ever again. Don't slump without a word, without doing something. Show me you've earned trust, Milkar. Fight. Fight it so I can see your brilliance, again and again, day after day. Fight so I could look you in the eyes—emerald to emerald—and tell you that I trust you, my brother. Stand.

Milkar went without protest. Monsotar lurched his sword back, my brother's blood sizzling on its golden blade.

'I've wanted to do that for some years,' Monsotar said. I heard the words but didn't register them.

I was sinking somewhere far. A zone of perpetual night encompassed me. Aranwen's screams dragged me back.

'Next, I want to address something.' He swung Goldfire towards Ceril. 'The child of a filthy savage should not breath in my wake.' The sword cut through her neck, and her body dropped.

As Ceril gurgled her own blood, her eyes piercing into mine. The words of a promise unkept heard in that wet noise. It was my turn to scream. I screamed for chieftain Gleril and his lady at his side on their cathedra. I screamed for their daughter that put her trust in me to keep her family safe, to keep her safe.

Monsotar moved again, this time for Sickle. But Sickle leaped to the side, Goldfire missing his flesh. Sickle rolled to one side, wildness about him, his eyes looking but not looking. His pupils blackened to Void with no whites to it. Something about him changed, then everything about him changed. He growled like an animal in fright. A cornered Rat-wolf or Senche-tiger betrayed by its pride. The bonds over his wrist snapped with an audible _pop_.

'The _Wild Hunt_ has taken him!' Rindiel flipped his Ransuer.

Monsotar raised a hand, staying his Crows.

Those frantic black eyes darted to all corners. Monsotar hopped backward as claws reached for him. Sickle, or what he'd become, grew coiled and entwined tusks from his mouth. They were ugly things that looked like a tangling of branch. His already long ears stretched outward like a pup's ears before they can stand erect. The transformation never made it pass that much. Not when Goldfire caught his flesh. The fire took, and the _Wild Hunt_ went out of him in an instant. Sickle roared, but it was cut short as the flames engulfed his entire body. It took only a few moments before his body was nothing but ash.

My body wasn't my own then. I wasn't myself. There were times, during my adventures with Tutor Rollyn, where he would take me to the pits of South Valenwood. They were underground, but everyone knew of them. A sorry place where children go to fight against other children. The story went that the those gifted or trained to fight can go there to earn some experience. There were young Mer from the legendary Ranger Guard Foster Trials, where younglings from six to thirteen go and test their mettle against other children of the same age. There was other catechumen like me with a single Tutor to learn the world and the fight. These pits taught me that there was a cold fire within me. Not wild like a blaze but serene like the _Ghost Flame_. I would see outside of myself as my hands wrought such bloodshed. It happened then, it was happening now.

I watched myself strip my bonds. To escape bonds, you've got to get a bit of sweat going, but even then, it's to get those fibers rubbing fast and digging into your skin. The blood comes after to really slicken the rope and slide it over raw flesh.

I was free, and my bloodlust peaked. I ran at Monsotar with the fury. I threw the first punch that landed on his jaw. He leaned away from it, letting it connect but not embracing the force. I threw another and another, slipped into his flank, and jabbed into his side. He hopped away and twirled. I came at him again. With a single extended finger, Monsotar planted it in the space between my eyes and on the bridge of my nose and stopped me short. With his entire hand, he wrapped my hand with spider-like fingers and slammed me into the ground.

'Rindiel, take this girl to the wagon. There might be use yet for the Black Raven of Shimmer Root.'

'Fuck y—' Rindiel's boot was the last thing I saw.

Rindiel threw me to the back of a wagon, squirming and swearing. My body slammed against the carriage walls, rattling my head and sending sharp pains through my ribs. Rindiel dug his fingers into my skin as they found purchase on the edges of my leathers and tossed me again. I tried to stand, but his Ranseur caught me at the side of my temple. With a heavy boot, he set to trampling my limbs.

'Stop,' he said, annoyed. 'Just stop it. You've lost.'

I wanted to scream my vengeance. All those cliché things we were wont to copy from the fictions of writers was pointless. I could only gurgle the blood choking my cries.

'You were never meant to win!' He bellowed and grabbed my head and turned it towards the burned hole into Oblivion. The sky was visible over the burned clearing. 'Look.'

Stars in the Twilight sky began to twinkle into existence. One by one, showing off their luminosity. I looked. And Rindiel looked with me. I looked hard, through tears and through the hurt. My head swam.

Everyone I loved; everyone that had ever loved me was gone. I was alone, left alive in this cruel world I wanted nothing from. Milkar's body hitting the ground replayed in my mind. Such a normal sound as if dropping plate armor or a sack of supplies. One moment he was there, beside me, and the next, gone.

Another moment and the world grew bright once more. The pillars of light blinding the eye. A twist of fire and death, golden for the seconds before I turned my head. I could feel the heat from here, radiating from over the tree line. Everything will burn.

I could not think for the moment. Not a clear thought in sight. But then it came to me. The single person I must lay my hope in. That single glimmer of light in the darkest of darks.

'Elren,' I said before I closed my eyes. 'Elren.'


	25. Monsotar Handseed

**********WARNING********** Extreme Concepts Ahead**********WARNING********** Extreme Concepts Ahead**********WARNING**********

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SENSITIVE THEMES.

* * *

 _Monsotar was a Bosmer that needed a light to see through the darkness of Nirn, so he set himself on fire._

* * *

Part 3

Chapter 25: Monsotar Handseed

There was a child of six with no real purpose and no real aim in this world. She did things any normal six-year-old would. She played, sometimes alone or sometimes with a furry creature captured and snuck into her father's home and stored in a cage. This girl didn't have companions; friendship was something foreign; relationships were a profound affair.

She waded through the world, listening and never speaking. Sometimes, she would stay in her room, or find a corner in the house to read and dream. Her imagination was her only friend. There were days where the only people she'd ever interacted with, would come around and talk to her. Conversations lasting two or three moments. She cherished them. These were times where she could ask questions about things she couldn't understand.

This girl's mother died the night of her birth. Her siblings trained day in and out, paying their younger sister no mind except for the tiny inkling moments they spent at home. When she blossomed, she followed a path that knew only loneliness. She had to harness the pain of being alone and turn it into power, lest the world swallow her up.

She knew that heartbreak would grip her and the people she loved but still, she let the darkness come.

* * *

Drip. Drip. Drip. And more fucking dripping. Rollyn had it that what made the trees, the leaves that grew from them, and even the insects that crawled their massive limbs are made of self-replicating corpuscles. They move in our blood carrying the air we breathe and the nutrients from our food to the rest of the body. I thought it much like Valenwood in that way.

Sap slipped through the dried skin of the wall, gorges, and ravines between each cell filled with bitter-sap—poisonous sap. How the Thieves of the Wood lived in this mysterious Graht-Oak eluded me.

I think the guilt ate at me more than the hunger than the thirst, and the stink of my own sewage. Day in and day out, there was no sunlight; no fresh air to save me from the burning in my nostrils. But that paled in comparison to seeing their faces shaped in the grain of the wood that locked me in here and filled my world. Their names were like curses on my tongue.

Counting the days lessened my maddening. Every second of every minute of every hour. One scratch into the wood equaled one day. Today, I made my thirtieth scratch. It gave me something to do. It's easier to think about the days that pass then thinking about the day when I meet my end.

The darkness coupled with the memories can creep its way in at times. Milkar's too easy death, the brutality of Ceril's and Sickle Ear's execution. I would have ended my own life if I had something to end it with. My fingernails were ground down to flesh from counting, the walls were bare but rough, like bark but metallic, and I didn't think to slam my skull on the bark would do the trick. I've managed to kill five guardsmen who thought to reach for me through my cell's leaf-veil. But there was always a back up to bound me. Starving myself didn't work out either. The body of mortals is more resilient than one might think. Fail-safes left by the gods prevent us from it like the body has some involuntary responses to thirst and hunger that takes over. The next thing you know, you gorged yourself on the rotten goop they give you for food.

Most of all, I missed them. I miss them so much, it hurt. I should've known what was going to happen; I should've trusted in my own prerogative. My beautiful brothers are gone. Ceril with her charm. My Elren. Esmond, Gwendalyn, Sickle Ear, and all the others were gone now. I was kept alive. Me? I'm good for nothing. I will never amount to anything. Their blood is on my hands.

A small cup, a tenth filled, slipped through the Greenleaf flap. I swooped it up, careful not to spill its meager contents and threw it back down my throat. The water was only enough to wet the mouth. This was torture. Monsotar was trying to break me.

Whispers began to form on the other side of the leaf veil. A stern, commanding muttering.

The leaf veil peeled up, and Rindiel framed the exit. My heart beat against my chest, and I cowered by the very sight of him. Through the wetness of my sewage, I slipped to the corner, my breathing to erratic to control. Rindiel grimaced and frowned with pity.

'Come,' he said.

'Please, don't hurt me. Please.' I meant it.

'I cannot promise you anything.' He glanced at two other thieves behind him and chucked his head forward.

The two thieves moved in, tight grins on their mouths. I pushed myself against the wall, clawing at it to stretch further. 'Please, don't hurt me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

'He wants to see you.'

My eyes widened. 'No! No!'

My blood throbbed in my veins. I swirled on the first thief and caved his nose into his brain with an elbow. He fell quickly, face first into the brownness. The other flinched and slipped in the muck. I tried to claw pass Rindiel, but he had his Ranseur at the ready. He tapped it to my chest, sending a shockwave of light energy through my body. I slammed to the far wall of my prison and dropped to the ground. The fight went out of me as quick as it came.

'You are to get washed up and speak with Monsotar.' Rindiel approached, but I was too weak to fight him off.

He grabbed my hair and dragged me into the corridor. More of their number held me down. More molesting hands reaching on me, fondling, poking, attacking me. I cried.

Buckets of water splashed. My body was exposed for all to see. They jeered and snickered. They licked their lips, eyes rolling over me. More buckets, more water.

They gave me a girl's tunic, too tight as if previously owned by a child. Blood crusted on the groin area. Old blood.

What did I make of this? How low have my life had fallen? Where did I lose? When?

I sat in a small, guarded room, feeling the wood of the ground with my feet. The walls were grey and unrefined, like the high walls of Shimmer Root. The stink of hardened sap, sweet and high, raised into my nose. Like a wet metallic resonating from a smithy's cooling pool.

Rollyn taught me to distinguished smells of prominent wood. Iron-Bark, I knew it from a simple description. Long extinct, that was impossible. The war with the Daedra sought to that. They were stolen from our lands and disappeared. Only forged and carved remnants were said to remain in Valenwood. I tossed the thoughts from my mind. There were no Iron-Bark trees left, and if they were, they were my father's birthright.

I counted about three dozen Mer, mixed of blood, but all a descendant of Bosmer. The Thieves of the Wood stuck to their own but betrayed who they were.

Fear ran in me. Why wouldn't it? I watched Monsotar kill my friends without a single shred of remorse in him. We were mere bugs stinging a giant to the point he clapped us dead. That begged the question of why I was spared.

The slow thud of Rindiel's boots brought me to attention. He framed the door and entered the room. I couldn't look Rindiel in the eyes. He had Elren's eyes, his nose, his lips… They told a story of pity and trustworthiness. I trusted Elren. And when Milkar asked me to trust him, I didn't. Now he's dead. Elren's uncle grabbed the bend of my arm and pulled me into a winding corridor.

We were in a Graht-Oak that much I put together. A strange kind filled with rooms and halls and nowhere to go. Whereas in Shimmer Root lived a grove in a cavity of wide open space; this tree was more of a dark prison.

I stumbled as the corridor deposited us in front of two grand leaf-veils. Life was the veins that crisscross the planes of a leaf. Paths to follow and paths to steer clear. But even on a leaf, eventually, all paths lead to the edge.

'Leila,' Rindiel said. There was something off about the way he spoke. A cusp of sympathy bordering a sea of malevolence. I looked up at him. 'Something horrible is about to happen.' He looked down at me, this time all emotion seemed to have left his eyes and fell to his tongue. 'Think of my nephew,' he said, finally.

The leaf-veil peeled upward toward the ceiling, and he pushed me in. My feet touched the cold, carved floor. My body shivered despite the fire salts baking in oiled sconces in staggered rows along the grey walls that stretched down to a rounded nook. But before a dais led towards the darkness of the back wall, a long table, decorated with a meal so grand it seemed only fit for a king, stood. It was a dining hall. One such, I've only ever seen in the homes of Treethanes.

From the start and rolling down the length of the table, shimmering ivory and silver dishes and silverware peppered every finger's length of the table. But the smell…that divine smell of roast floated my nose and unleashed the floodgates of my mouth, causing monsters to roar in my belly. I grew mad with hunger and saw no reason to restrain bombarding the table to sate my starved body. That was until I saw who sat at the other end.

Peering behind steepled hands, Monsotar watched me with such intensity, it made my teeth rattle. I turned to go. There's a thing; if you must run, try running towards something, that way it always seems like you're running faster than you really are. Rindiel allowed the pommel of his Ranseur to clank the ground. A beam of light shot me in the chest and threw me to the ground. I crawled and latched his legs.

'Please, no. Please don't leave me here. Please.'

Rindiel said nothing. I hoped for some words. Anything to hear the emotion and remorse in them. Anything which to tell he felt any sort guilt for doing this to me. Anything other than that blank stare.

'Papa, who's that?' A voice, high and sweet.

'She's my dinner guest, Montedor.'

'Oh,' the boy said. 'Is that why I can't eat with you, Papa?'

I struggled to stand, to get a good look at him. I would burn that little boy's face in the folds of my grey matter. A memory for the ages. I will rove over it until time stopped ticking and the last man, mer, and Beastfolk become dust.

Monsotar rubbed his son's head. The boy was a replica of his father. Those dark eyes and strident features to cut an edge. He would grow into them. Monsotar never took his eyes from me.

'Montedor, why don't you head on out with Rindiel?' Monsotar nodded towards Rindiel. 'Might you give him some lessons?'

Rindiel nodded and waited until Monsotar's son was at his side. He spared me a final glance before disappearing behind the leaf-veil. I closed my eyes, wishing I was somewhere else. Since leaving home with Tutor Rollyn all those years ago, I never felt my age. This day, this hour, I finally felt the little girl I was always supposed to be. And I was scared.

'The Black Raven,' Monsotar said from his end of the table. 'It has a ring to it.' His hand found a Spider Lychee and took a bite.

I inched towards the leaf-veil.

'Sit down.' He pulled out a chair. 'Have some food, you must be starved.'

Monsotar pursed his lips and took his seat again. He grinned and shook his head. 'I'm sorry about your friends.'

I said nothing.

'What would you have me do? Allow Milkar to do as he pleases? Your family's arrogance has never been checked in the history of Valenwood. From the farmers of your forefathers to the warriors that walk around with the Lockharte chip burdening your shoulders, your pride is innate.'

'I watched my father disown me; I watched you kill my brothers and my friends. You think I care about having pride? Pride is all I have left.'

Monsotar considered me for another moment before finishing his fruit. 'Eat.'

'I have no appetite.' I lied. It took everything in me to hold my legs in their place before I devoured every morsel before me.

He grinned, showing a row of pearly whites. 'You're going to die.'

'Is that not what you want?'

'If I wanted you dead, Young Raven, you wouldn't be standing here. There's something more.'

For the youngness of Nirn, Y'ffre gave his blood and body and wisdom to the Bosmer. For Valenwood, his final resting place, he taught us the Green. For me, he gave me darkness. 'Something more?'

'You wondered about these forests playing a criminal. Children like you, with so much power in your hands dabbling around forces you do not understand. That was your brother's demise; his downfall was always misunderstanding the world. Or, perhaps, he knew what he was getting himself into and led you all to believe something different.' He circled around, his steps slow and calculated. 'You poked and prodded. Was it so hard to believe we would wake up and retaliate?' Monsotar shrugged.

As he grew near, I clambered away. That leaf-veil wasn't going to open; not unless he wished it.

'What was it that you were trying to stop? The desolation of Bosmer culture? The corruption in Silvenar and Falinesti? The spread of my influence? I have never initiated the span of any of these just so you know. The fall of Valenwood was not of my doing. This isn't the romanticized dream you see behind those lids of yours, Raven. These forests, these trees, they are the Thalmor's now. That's what the people wanted, and that's what they're going to get. There is no more Valenwood. No more Boiche or Tree-Sap people. The Greenpact is a thing of meager existence. There is only Alinor and the Aldmeri Dominion. But, of course, children will always be children. You lived the dream of social justice and canonized a sole view. In the end, you've become nothing more than terrorists making fragmenting but a small piece of a larger world.'

'You're wrong,' I said. 'We only wanted to stop the Tam'Akar. But we needed cooperation from the officials to do so. We couldn't do that if _you_ had them under your thumb.'

'Stop the Tam'Akar from what?' Monsotar asked. 'Stop their false inquisition? You think Aridiil cares about the savages that live in the mud of our province?' He laughed. 'Milkar has washed your mind.'

'What?' His words were beginning to lose me.

'You can blame your own mother for Aridiil's interest in the Greenpact tribes. If she hadn't hidden her power amongst them. They would all be safe rather than on the verge of extinction.'

'My mother?'

'And Milkar,' he said. 'Didn't you know that?'

'I—'

'Of course, you didn't,' Monsotar mocked.

'You're lying.' I shook my head. I wanted nothing more than to kill him, but fear stayed hands. Fear of what he might do, or what I might lose.

'No, I am not.' He wagged a finger. 'And the best thing about all this is that I am trying to stop him. And your brother tried to ruin that. All because he was angry at me.'

'I can't.' I covered my ears. 'I can't listen to these lies!'

'Milkar came to me first. Many, many years ago. Probably when he was your age.' He nodded at that, his eyes flickering back to a memory. 'As arrogant then as he was when I ended him. It's such a shame really. Such a waste of endless potential. Your brother knew I worked to hold back the tide that was the Tam'Akar. Their inquisition of our people is inevitable, but at least I was going to buy some time. At least I was facing off against them in a battle of maneuvering rather then setting a flame to kindle war. Your brother was radical. He came to me asking for war; he wanted to drag it out in the shadows. Like what you were doing for the past year.' Monsotar paced again. 'He even took Esmond, my most loyal Crow to do it. I could see why Esmond followed him too. Milkar was charismatic, and Esmond wanted revenge on his father.'

There was a silence between us. Monsotar roved over to the table, twirled a utensil then set it down. 'There's no stopping them. They'll come. Full force. Your idea of stopping them was to kill the only people who know what they are. You were detrimental to your own cause.'

'Milkar could've stopped that tide, but you killed him.'

'Just like Aridiil, your brother's real goal was to find the _Ghost_ _Flame_.'

I froze. A trail of bumps rising and fallen down my spine. He watched me, and I felt vulnerable, too vulnerable. I hid where there was nowhere to hide. In my mind, with my ghosts. The pain hid here too, waiting for me. Milkar's face, the words he spoke. Aranwen, Ceril, Sickle, Esmond, and Gwendalyn. And all the other people that have touched my life. Where was Elren? Where was Rollyn? They were nowhere. I wanted my mother when I had none. I was alone, I always was. Just myself against the blackness of the Void.

Before I realized, Monsotar was at my feet.

I scrambled and flailed as if drowning at sea, taking on too much water. The weight of Valenwood rested on me, and it was too heavy. I couldn't take it; I couldn't breathe. Monsotar pulled me up from my arms and threw me to a chair. My limbs couldn't break the spell of panic; the choking world gathering in my lungs.

Milkar, Elren, Rollyn…and even you, Father. Save me. Save me, please. In that instant, I didn't think I could hate those four more than anything else on Nirn.

'It isn't that Ara's _Ghost Flame_ is some all-compassing power that spans over,' he counted on his fingers, 'three schools of magic?' He smiled. 'It carries a sort of command. One measly little spell won't be enough to take on the brunt force of the Empire, no matter how weak it might have become, but it's when people hear the name, they will be reminded about what it was used for. The bastard of the Septim line may have closed the gates, but it was your mother that led the charge to protect Valenwood against the biggest horde Tamriel had ever seen. That sort of legend shakes foundations to its core. Why do you think the Thalmor started its inquisition?' He raised an eyebrow amusingly. 'The Altmer are still scared; still confused over how a single human from the north conquered all of Tamriel where they couldn't even unite the Bosmer under the same banner until recently. And now the men of the Empire worship the first of the Septims as a god.'

'Why? Why are you telling me this? The truth of my brother, the Thalmor and their Tam'Akar. What is your purpose?'

'Ah. The point of all this is. I know what your goal is. I know what you want. You made your brother a promise, and you still wish to hold on to it. The problem you're facing is that I killed your brother. Honestly, a bit of an impulse, I admit.' He grinned. 'I've been said to have a temper at times.'

'I **will never help you**!'

That grin of his fell satisfyingly flat. 'And that is where we have a problem.' Something in his personality changed in almost an instant. Where the shrewd and calculating intelligence once reigned, a new Bosmer usurped it. Wildness set to his eyes, and his lips drew back like a wolf ready to kill. I saw the blackness in his soul then, an evil unkindness.

Feeling his fingers begin to lace and intertwine with my hair, I tried to stand. My movements hungered for food. He was fast and struck accordingly. A fist to my jaw then he held tighter and slammed my head into the table. The silverware clattered and dance. My blood spilled from the wound to the table. I stood up, the pain not registering to my mind just yet, but it came. He came with it. I held up a cross-block with shaky arms, and Monsotar's fist slammed into it. The power of his assault sent me hurdling back. I crashed against the wall, ejecting blood through my teeth. His knee came in quick, crushing my sternum with an audible crack. A deep breath felt like knives swimming in my lungs.

'You tried to end everything I worked for, Leila Lockharte. Or should I continue to feed your dreams of grandeur and call you the Black Raven?' He let out a shrill laugh. 'The Black Raven of Shimmer Root.' I looked at him through swollen eyes, barely conscious. 'That really does have a ring to it.'

I tried to cry, but the only thing I could muster was a bloody hiccup.

Think of Elren.

My eyes began to shut, darkness shrouding my mind. Think of Elren. I trembled.

Wetness overtook my body, ice and frost to shock my world. An artic to wake the senses. I gasped alive and saw my body soaked; Monsotar holding a pitcher.

'You've killed members of my family and took their livelihood. That's unforgivable, Young Raven. Very selfish. And yet, I offer you my hospitality and a way to keep your brother's memory. What do you do?' Monsotar brought his finger to his mouth and tapped his lips. 'You throw it back at me.' He lifted a leg and struck my rib, pelting me over. 'Why is that? I want to know. You've starved on food I wouldn't feed a Fellhog, and here you are, denying such a great meal.'

He dragged me to the dining table, fingers laced through my hair. I could smell the roasted meat even over my own blood. Even then, it made my stomach growl. 'When I say eat—you must eat!'

I pushed away again, earning another bang with the table. More clattering of plates and forks.

'I think you'll be pleased for what we're having for dinner! Look.'

I watched the meat then. Still steaming—still succulent and moist. I watched and watched. And then I realized for what it was. I eyed a steak, a perfectly cut squire made to look like a sirloin. I saw it, inked lines, zigzagging to the point of butchering. The sigil of the Raw Tooth tribe. I heaved though there was nothing to heave, blood maybe. I fell from the table, tears falling, teeth chattering, and my world spinning.

'I'm sure it's tasty,' Monsotar said. 'Take a bite. I know you're hungry.'

Through my pain, I heard him take up the meat. My friend's flesh—her flesh. I promised them that I would protect her, and I didn't. And now this…

Monsotar pushed it against my lips, and I pursed tight. He squeezed the roasted flesh; the smell of it was sweet.

Since the first time I left my home, I knew I was different. I knew there was something in me that would snap before anyone could bend it. I truly was a puppet, I didn't care, my dark fires were all that mattered. I would burn Nirn if I could carry ruin to every corner, but I will not eat my friends.

I glimpsed a steak knife that had fallen from the table. I reached for it quickly and brought it across Monsotar's face. It didn't produce the desired results—Monsotar still lived. A new red line striping his cheek. He let the blood run free and took a step back, smiling… laughing, even. I tried to stand but couldn't. I tried to raise my hand but couldn't. I just couldn't.

He stretched his arms out, like a bird about to take flight. 'Why are you so against it?' He asked. 'You wanted to protect the Greenpact Bosmer. You wanted to see their flourishment in this world that changes and abandon culture like that behind. You wanted that conservatism, did you not? Or were you acting on the impulse of a child with no grounds? A child with power and skill but a feeble, naïve mind?' He began to growl. 'They feed on their own kind. Eat them right from the dirt from where the killing blow was administered. They wander the dirt like insects, naked, their genitalia exposed to the world. Fucking and sucking each other in orgies of feral ignominy. That is what you wanted. And yet you refuse to eat their flesh? Do you think Chieftain Gleril's daughter would have hesitated in devouring your corpse?' He eyed me as if waiting for an answer. 'You'd be scat by now.'

Monsotar's vest dropped to the floor. Blood from the wound I dealt streamed down his cheek, rolled to the peak of his cheek, and dripped on to his chest. Drip. Drip. Drip. And more fucking dripping. Next, his pants dropped. I watched the blood slide down the hills and valleys of his belly and down his legs. I watched that line of blood escape and pool onto the ground.

I got up and ran. The charge made me crash against the leaf-veil sending it ajar, just a bit. A tiny sliver of freedom calling out to me. Yearning me to come forth. I could hear Monsotar's feet squelching closer, slowly. I banged and banged. But no one came. Not Rollyn, not my father, not my mother, or my brothers. Not even Elren came. Even when I thought of him, he didn't come.

Monsotar held the collar of my tunic and threw me back towards the table. I landed hard, fracturing another rib. I cried out loud this time. I cried hard and didn't have it stop. The pain oozed in me then out of me. I did this. This was my fault; I should've walked away from Milkar that night. I should have killed the raven. I saw it then, still with its emerald gem lodged in its beak, sitting in the darkest corner. Monsotar grabbed me again, ripping that old, little tunic from me and turned me to. I had nothing else on.

He lowered his mouth to my ear. I felt the air leave his nose, I heard his breathing and smelled his scent. 'The Black Raven of the Woods.' He chuckled. 'Now _that_ has a good ring to it.'

I stared towards that slightly ajar leaf-veil. I stared until I saw the eyes of a small boy. A child that was supposed to be off with his lessons and smiling and playing. His eyes were innocent, and they reminded me of Elren's.

Pushed up against the table, bent at the waist, head down, I couldn't move. I couldn't think for anything.

As he entered me, I wept for my brothers and my friends and the Silver Crescents that died because of me. As he entered me, pulling and pushing and grunting, I no longer felt of myself. The bloodlust the pumped through me withdrew with each sob and each plea for him to stop. There was no longer love, no longer that mercy I pride myself to keep. As he entered me, what little innocence I wanted to hold was gone. As he entered me, Monsotar took me into him. The Void mangles you—it takes your soul and makes something different of you. As the blood ran down my legs, Leila Lockharte left with it.

Only disaster remained.


	26. Alliance of the Unkind

_All rebellion starts out as a simple vocal resistance. It isn't until it reaches that tipping point, a single event, to throw it into the Void never to return to the way it was._

* * *

Chapter 26: Alliance of the Unkind

I watched the Grove of Bent Grasses from a high-point balcony of Centaurcrass. I said balcony, but I meant a carved hole in the bark of an Iron-Bark Graht-Oak overlooking the forest. For a hundred and forty years, people believed the Iron-Bark to have gone extinct, cut down and harvested by the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis. Although a mere base of the tree was left, Centaurcrass was still all that remained of the Lockharte farmer's trees.

I dipped the small bristle nail tee in the vial, filling the small strands of black polish, and ran it over my toenails, two strokes to cover the nail. I ran my fingers through my toes to separate each toe from each other. Black coat to each nail, smooth, calculating, relaxing. On the small toe, I dabbed the tee to finish. The breeze took my foot in its buoyant embrace, hanging dozens of paces above.

The bark against my back, hard and rough, offered support on the bareness of my skin. I often looked down. I measured the distance of which I might fall. How would it feel? The snap, crackle, and pop of my bones as they hit the forest floor. What would my Father say? The world? No one I cared about lived anymore. Rollyn and his lessons; Milkar and his dream; Aranwen and his optimism; Elren and his smile.

Milkar wanted to see Valenwood flourish for all Bosmer, not just the select few that lived partisan lives, suckling on the Altmer tit. Altmerish coin was the lightest of them all, lighter than their bones, and the blood they spilled for their Thalmor Regime. The way Rollyn had it, it seemed the Bosmer deserved what was coming to them. It is a Mer's own mind, not her enemy or foe, that leads her to evil. I knew my ways were shaped by the rebellion in me. That dark side running as shadows in my mind led me to my many sins, but I still held to the only light that I had. But that light has shut away, done in by a single blow. Now all Bosmer won't ever flourish.

Monsotar offered a peace based on a lie. Sacrificed the many for the more. But a peace based on falsehoods is peace nonetheless. It was the only inkling of truth I held in the aftermath of the Crescents' death. I had six moon cycles to think on it. I rolled the thoughts and numbed my mind to the pain of accepting such a creed. Before, I only acted on my brother's word—trust before logic, loyalties before reason. My insanities led all of us astray. My promise to my brother was born among a million deceitful stars. That night I met Elren, a single goal was born that would last the test of time. A promise that I would find it, no matter what. Death will not stop us, my brothers.

I slipped back into my bedchamber, lowly lit by a budding spray of _Gleamblossom_ sitting in a trio of sconces in the corners. A slate of dwarven glass rested evenly over a vanity. I placed the nail tints back in its place and stared into the face of my reflection. Things have changed in the six months since that night. My thoughts, my looks, my lust have expanded.

They kept me in this room, day in and day out. They fed me well and showered me with whatever I needed. But I was still a prisoner of war. I was stuck with every corner a brandished arrow or blade to my throat. I knew it to be Monsotar's orders that my death would come to endless torture for whoever took the chance. He wanted me alive. That didn't stop his Woods from trying. The first two assassins I killed myself with my bare hands. They came for me in the night, thinking me asleep. When you've lived long enough on the road, teetering on the edge of sleep is a must, lest you want a knife driven in your heart and your coin purse lightened. The last five, Rindiel took their souls into his Ranseur. The soul gems are kept in a glass case before my bedchamber to show anyone else with the mind for revenge. In truth, I did kill their friends, perhaps their family or those they considered such, but I hadn't a need to care. My sins are my own, and I am well aware of the consequences.

Generals and tacticians of old, men of wise battle strategies and professionals of the art of war have taught us to befriend our enemies to take down the enemy of everyone. Arian may have had it right to beseech Valenwood's prosperity in the lesser of evils. But was Monsotar the lesser? Sure, a Bosmer who fought and helped the Tam'Akar could be just as a menace as them, but who was guiltier for Valenwood's destruction? The destroyer, or the ones who allow the destruction?

My leaf-veil folded to the side, revealing Rindiel framing the veilway. I watched his reflection as his eyes made a smooth motion down the nakedness of my back. 'Most people give a warning before they enter a lady's room.'

He caught my eyes in the dwarven mirror. 'I'm not most people…and you're no lady.'

Rindiel stepped aside, allowing a Woods member to wheel in a small wagon filled fresh leathers rowed with quicksilver buckles and multitude pockets and sheaths still with the stink of the tanning and dye. They were blacker than the night was dark. Rindiel tossed a newly woven cloak over the pile. I stood, and the footpad's eyes fell on the curvature of my waist and the hourglass of my shoulders.

The Crow turned to his helper and chucked his head towards the veilway. 'Get lost.' The leaf-veil closed behind the boy.

'What's the matter?' I asked. 'Don't want anyone else looking on your eye sweets?'

Rindiel scoffed, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall. 'Put on your gear.'

'Privacy?'

'No.'

Silenced stretched.

'How do you know I won't run?' I asked, shifting the conversation.

Rindiel pursed his lips then said, 'You won't.'

It's true. Monsotar was working for Valenwood's meager survival rather than prosperity. I knew that much. It was all I had to cling onto. The thought of Monsotar being my enemy frightened me to my very core. Hatred was what carried me through.

Bantering with Rindiel was only for my own sake. I wanted to show them that I still wore my confidence, in truth though, I was sick to my core. Standing there naked, afraid, ashamed. Disgust bubbled in my throat and threatened to heave through at any moment. Rindiel knew of my farce, but I couldn't bring it to light; I wasn't strong enough. Monsotar stole everything from me, even the peace of mind that kept me straight for so long.

I slipped a foot through the sleeve of my leather bottoms and glanced up. Rindiel's eyes were closed as they usually were when I dressed. My hands shook as I did so—fear, shame, and disgust kept them trembling.

Buckled through loops and freshly painted feet in skin footwraps, breastplate over a black tunic, and gauntlets to my wrists, I was armored. I whipped my cloak over my head and stepped towards Rindiel, ready for war. Or just the usual.

'You look a bit paler than normal.' He said, opening the leaf-veil.

'People seem to lose color when their hearts are filled with hatred,' I told him.

'It's time,' he said, and I walked passed him and into the corridor. Other Woods members stood on standby as if waiting for the massacre I wanted to give them. Not today.

I remembered the walls, their greyness, the hard metallic of their skin. The coldness of the ground froze my feet, the wood splintered and unforgiven, full of grooves and snags. Solitary confinement didn't teach me anything. I was left with my mind and my hatred, a stew of guilt, and the memories of a time less complicated. Before I knew it, sadness didn't rock me anymore, but it was still swirling there. Fear didn't freeze me in my place, but it brooded on my shoulders and in my hands. Hatred festered in every inch of my soul.

'There's going to be a day when it's my time to die,' Rindiel said, an edge of sadness. I got better at recognizing it now. 'Leave it for Elren.'

'Elren is dead,' I told him.

'Well…' Rindiel paused and shook his head, '…then that's just too bad.'

We stopped before Monsotar's dining hall. To be truthful, I hadn't seen Monsotar since I was dragged bloody from this very chamber. I remembered the night as clear as day, the promises I lost, and the new ones I made. I was young then, probably more body than mind, but I was young. Too young for what happened to me that night, even for someone as hardened as I was. I have given more souls to the Void than most Mer do by their two-hundredth year. I'd never known the warmth of another. The feel of him. There was nothing warm about it. I thought then that my first would have been Elren—when we came to terms of the feelings that wrapped us in emotional confusion. But Monsotar took that from me, as he did my brothers and my friends. So, who was the true thief? This was his world; we were merely kids playing in it.

The leaf-veil folded, and we walked into his hall.

Images flashed through my mind, bad ones and worst. The smell of my friend's roasted flesh lingered. A ghost of it tricking my brain into thinking it was still there.

Monsotar stood behind his table, parchment, and scroll in place of meat and plate. Others flanked him. Nightblades, the first I've seen since my imprisonment here. They watched me with odious eyes. I'd wounded Rindiel and killed Arian, their hatred was well placed. Many in this Graht-Oak wanted to kill me. Over the months, many have tried and failed. They knew they would be hard-pressed for any success. As much as my death was warranted, I didn't think it was time for me to die. Not just yet, not until I've fulfilled my promise to Milkar.

'You're looking better than the last we met in this room, Raven.' Monsotar didn't look up from his maps and plans. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better,' I said.

'I would hope so.' He raised an arching eyebrow, perfectly shaped. 'Come, Young Raven, there is much work to be done.'

I stepped towards the table, slowly. My hands quaked, and I grabbed the seams of my breeches. The severance of fear is a difficult thing. Fear tightens its jaws around you and lowers its sharp teeth on your heart. It holds you in chains like a collar or leash keeping you from the capacity of mind. What stopped me from brandishing a knife on everyone in this hall? Open a throat here then there, and this nightmare could be over. But I didn't.

One of the Nightblade slipped his foot to the side, a miniscule movement in the thousands of unconscious tripping of our muscle tendons, but recognizable for any fighter. A stance. I knew it to be so immediately. Perhaps he thought this the perfect opportunity to end a score he built between us in his own mind. For me, killing Monsotar's lacky men was nothing personal. It was war, business, and a goal of which no one would have stopped me. I didn't think of the thousands of relationships one mortal might have in his life. I didn't feel that until Monsotar killed my brothers. This Bosmer wanting my head right here and now was not different from me if I were to go after his leader.

I pulled the short steel knife pinning Monsotar's scroll to the table. I had the steel clashing against the Nightblade's blade in a flash.

'Sharp reflexes,' he grumbled and sheathed his dagger.

I shook my head. 'I was too slow to cut your neck. My senses have dulled in my captivity.'

Monsotar watched my hands as I lowered the knife; they were shaking uncontrollably. His eyes came up to meet mine. There was a slight ghost of a grin whispered on his lips.

'This is a very important moment in your life, Raven,' Monsotar said. 'Today, you will learn about working as a unit. I'm sure Ambassador Faeden wanted the Ranger Guard to teach you that one.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You may have been in the Silver Crescents, but you were never a Silver Crescent. You often acted on your own volition, recklessly, and you put your family in danger.'

'You…watched us?'

Monsotar laughed. 'I even watched you bathe. Don't think I don't know about Augoth Thornbush, or that wild boy of yours, hiding in the forests somewhere. You want to know why I spared your life, Black Raven of Shimmer Root? You reminded me of myself when I was your age.' He put his hand on his hip and talked with his other hand. 'Anger, hatred, a willingness to become the best, pride, and bloodlust. Those are the hallmarks of a story villain. And I'm going to beat it out of you.'

He took the darkest parts of me and laid them out to a light that it should never see. A mad woman in any collection. The Nightblades on his flanks chuckled in deep guttural grumbles.

'I don't think Elren is alive,' I said. I wanted to get that out there. That single statement is something I had to say and hope it true.

I needed it to be true.

Death was the only conclusion because abandonment would push me over the edge. If Mother didn't die; if she merely walked away, leaving us to fend for ourselves with Father, I couldn't fathom such hurt. If Elren was alive…

'Very well…' Monsotar's words trailed off into a solemn silence. 'Anyway, the Silver Crescents has caused a sought of blemish on my skin. A bite on the surface that needs treatment. We need to mend the relationships with the Raw Tooth, find ourselves another _Soul Link_ , and an enchanter.'

I'd nearly forgotten about Ceril's ability to hold animal souls within her body. As a living soul gem, she was a prime assistant for Torgoth in his underground station. Such powerful weapons needed hundreds of souls from the animals hunted by her tribe's specialty. Such a precious loss was my fault. I didn't like being moved to guilt so easily, so I tried to hold Monsotar's stare but struggled.

'Chieftain Gleril would have my head,' I told him. 'I promised to protect his daughter, but I failed. He won't take kindly to that.'

Monsotar shrugged. 'Fine. I have something different for you. Something you'll like. Follow me.'

I swallowed hard and slowly stepped forward. Rindiel and I left the dining hall and emerged into a smaller room. Like the others, the Iron-Bark wood was carved out forcibly, gradient grooves scarred the surface of the walls, parallel and moving in long hatched lines. In each corner, miniature sconces sat burning fire salts and boar fat, illuminating the room in an even light. The smell of it brazened on my nose. Another table stood in the center of the room covered in thick hides with several weapons placed in a neat order. When I grew closer, I realized whose weapons they were.

Ceril's lightning swords were parallel to each other. Inactive, they seemed like two small mundane knives, too short to cut even the flesh of a _Jungle Fowl_. I ran my hand over Aranwen's Tanto blades; the Akiviri-imitated style had the eastern continent's maze decorum down the length of its hilt. I allowed a small chuckle to escape me. Aranwen's comical nature led him to wield two secondary knife weapons as his sword style. He was unstoppable with them. Finally, I saw it; dormant as the first time. Its hilt was black as night, leading down to the single talon of a raven. A crossguard that seemed it would fly at the first chance it gets with stretched wings. And the blade, that was my blade. The Iron-Bark was so expertly carved, its form could not be differentiated from metal. That was the potential Iron-Bark wood had. A grown metal. Ebony steel chased over the Iron-bark in long lines, bolstering its dexterity and power. Whoever crafted this weapon was a genius. I picked up Twilight's Talon, feeling something slip inside of me. The solace I received put my nerves at ease, and my hands stopped trembling. My bow was there too, branded with the Lockharte symbol that represented our Iron-Bark tree farming and archer roots.

I grabbed up my weapons and finally felt confident enough to speak. 'Where's Pondus?'

'Never recovered,' Monsotar said quickly. 'It's probably burned to ash.' His voice sounded glee.

Pondus wasn't the strongest of swords, but it was Iron-Bark from a bygone era. To hear such a legend burned away made my heart sink. From the recurved bows of the Empire's forces to the discreet finger knife made from the bones of _Fellrunners_ in the land of the Yokudans. This is a passion for weapons I've shared with Tutor Rollyn. The old Bosmer mercenary was a master in every weapon created by a mortal or immortal. It always came naturally for him, mastering a weapon in less than a day. We would lament over the names of swords of old and their wielders for hours on end. He knew so much history down to the excavation site where they pulled the metal from the dirt.

'I do hope everything is in order?'

I nodded, not looking him in the eye.

'Very well then,' Monsotar said. 'Time to meet the Leucrota.'

'Leucrota?'

'A group of misfits. Geniuses of what they do, but damned idiots.' Rindiel folded his arms. 'My idiots.'

I shook my head slowly. 'I don't want to work with anyone.' In truth, I would probably kill them all.

'Here we work as a family.' Monsotar wagged his finger. 'There's no point in having such a vast guild as mine and not utilizing our numbers,' he paused, 'ah, but you're a bit different, aren't you? You're the Black Raven, of course, the legend that surrounds you only speaks of you and no one else. You might have moved with the Silver Crescents, but you've always seemed detached. That's what got them killed.'

A whisper of the old me slipped into me. Perhaps it was because I was in possession of Twilight's Talon again, having a familiar strength bubbling like a molten rock beneath the surface of Nirn ready to sprout from volcano and caldera. The blade was already out before I had the mind to stop it. That feeling of holding it, balanced across my arm and body, sharper than sharp. It felt good. But when my mind settled, and I stared into Monsotar's eyes down the length of Twilight's blade, I froze.

Rindiel raised his Ranseur, but Monsotar stayed his hand. 'No need to do that, Rindiel. You were too slow to act before she pulled it on me, you'll be too slow to act before she cleaves my head off.'

'My apologies, Monsotar.' Rindiel looked at me. If not for being half-Bosmer, Elren would have looked just like him.

'Do it,' Monsotar said. 'Go ahead. By the time any of us can counter you, my head will have rolled several paces across the ground.' Monsotar smiled, his eyes hard. 'Isn't this all you know how to do? You called yourself a thief, a criminal, a rebel? Your none of that, Leila Lockharte. You're not anything but a bloodthirsty death monger. You feed off it.'

I stepped forward. Still, my mind didn't understand what my body was doing. 'What about all the Bosmer you've killed and plan to kill? The ones you sold to the Tam'Akar. The Red Moss tribe,' I nodded towards Rindiel, 'his tribe.'

'You're speaking of things you don't understand, girl.' Rindiel shook his head.

'What's it going to be? Show us your nature.' Monsotar grabbed the blade of my sword and clamped down. His blood ran down its length and pooled at the hilt before dripping off. 'Show us,' he said, 'so I can show you mine.'

At his side, Goldfire began to glow hot yellow, then orange, then white. The air in the room began to boil, and the sweat immediately poured from my brow. He activated the sword's enchantment without touching it. Sweat glistened up and down his body, wet and moist. It streamed down the muscles of his belly, absorbing into his breeches.

'You think your anger trumps mine? You think your hatred festers more than mine? I've seen horrors and committed atrocities. We mortals, you and I, are one in the same. We live by our rebellion, hating anything that told us the one word that we loathe the most: "No." You and I _**are**_ the same, Leila. The Crow and The Raven. My murder with your unkindness will reject this world. People like us become players, pitted against each other. So, do it, Leila. Do it, and you'll see which one of us burns the brightest.'

His blood dripped to the floor and boiled away. Rindiel swayed a bit, his eyes faltering under the heat. Finally, I pulled away violently, seizing control of my body once more. Monsotar still held Twilight's Talon by the blade, but I was clear across the room by then. The fire salts sconces dimmed down to the usual glow, the steam wisped from the walls, and dry papyrus sheets burned on at the edges and puttered out. Goldfire cooled back to normal, and the room's heat subsided. In the school of Enchantment, soul gems are used to cast various spells on a blade. Not with Augoth. His mastery was so astounding, he could use the essence of a living being. As long as Monsotar stood alive, then Goldfire will have power and will react to his heart. It was the same for Twilight's Talon.

'There's a fire in all of us,' Monsotar tossed my sword, and it landed upright from the ground. 'Some burn cold, some hot.' The wound on his hand disappeared slowly, weaved closed by healing magic. 'But even the coldest of fires can turn a Mer to ash faster than the fires of heat and flame.' Monsotar approached slowly, sweat still rolling down him. He knelt and stuck a hand out. 'Stand.'

I looked him in those dark, evil eyes. Insanity waited there. It was something I saw before. And I never wanted to see it again.

'Stand,' he said. And I stood.

'Your goal was always peace. It was the promise you gave your brother. But what about what you want? In what order do you see yourself achieving such "peace?" You're not free of shackles. You're not the raven of the twilight you believe yourself to be.' Monsotar reached and wiped stray strands of hair from my face. 'Your mother's whim still oppresses you as it does all of us.'

'What…' I coughed. 'My mother's whim?'

'Do you not know who your mother was? Sure, you've heard the stories of the Oblivion Crisis. The valiant tales of the Circle of Seven will be told for centuries to come, but your mother was only sixteen then. And she was one hundred and thirty-seven during the birth that took her life.'

'I—what's your point?' I asked.

'One day, do a little research of your mother's life. Travel Valenwood; learn about its history. See this province in a world without her and how it was with her.' Monsotar swung around and nodded toward Rindiel. 'Take her to them.'

Rindiel nodded.

* * *

The dead Iron-Bark tree Monsotar found his refuge in was a crisscrossing maze of corridors and dark rooms. These thieves talked and skulked, skulked and talked. Banters and whispers from behind closed leaf-veils and around sharp corners told tales of disdain for the hierarchy within this guild. Disdain of the Nightblades and their magic. But the Nightblades talked as well—more discreet than the others, but words spoken of bilateral fights between subsects and separate gangs. Monsotar lied when he said this was a family. He lied when he said this was to further peace and stability in Valenwood. Monsotar was the state's chaos. Like the Dremora that came a-knocking on Arenthia's doors many years ago; all he had to offer is deceitful destruction.

We came down a twisting set of steps and deposited into a chamber, giving me a nostalgic reminder of Shimmer Root's inner sanctum. This was the belly of the beast, but unlike Shimmer Root, it was half its size and awarded with more natural lighting. Despite its grove being not as large, the size of this base proved the tree must have reached the Elden Tree's height and width, or at least a bit smaller. I shivered to think that my father's clan farmed trees like this in Valenwood. The chamber hosted a series of long and squat _Rye Pods_ , elongated snugpods that could house more than one family. These didn't house families. No father to hunt the food, no mother to cook it, and no children to eat it. These were homes of the worst criminals in Valenwood. Illusionist and Alterationers; healers, conjurers, and destroyers; thieves, pilferers, ringleaders, and operatives.

Besides that, the place seemed like a thriving community. A close-knit neighborhood where each neighbor knew each other, traded, borrowed and stole, fought, and the occasional murder.

We walked through, Rindiel and I. Eyes fell on me, some of suspicion and incredulity; some of lustful aching for a pretty face and widening hips. I slipped my hood over my face and ran fingers over my blades. Since Monsotar so readily robbed me of virginity, any mer that looked at me in such ways would have it be his last memory. This time I stayed my blades.

'They sense your anxiety,' Rindiel said at my side. 'Try relaxing. Lower your arms. Appear to be defenseless but still dangerous.'

'I don't need you to tell me how to be dangerous,' I snapped. 'Just take me to this Leucrota so we can get on with it.'

We stopped before one of the _Rye Pods_ with a bath of milky waters just before it. I knew it to be the poisonous Iron-Bark sap. The stuff was more precious than daedric ebony or even Iron-Bark itself. Rindiel led me inside, and I was met with the harmonious vibrations of a lute. It sounded like some misfit in here knew how to play the instrument. Somehow, that reminded me of the Silver Crescents. Aranwen was a world-class chef, Elren could have made a fortune as a concept carver, and Milkar could have politicked his way to a thaneship.

There was a female Bosmer lounged about a daybed, one leg stretched another drawn up in an arch, working dirt from under her fingernails with a knife. Four others sat around a round table with a pile of jewelry and Empire Septims stationed at the center. I never learned to play _Slates_ , but I've always wanted to. They placed numbered cards in neat order down in front of them, their faces rock hard in their focus. I glanced one of them for a bit—crunched in the face with a protruding jaw. He looked almost orcish. Adjacent to them, a thick-armed Bosmer worked over a bench, taking a hook knife to a piece of Iron-Bark, breaking the tool in the process.

The Bosmer woman glimpsed us first and raised an eyebrow. She wore full leather armor, like mine without the black. Hers was like that of the Ranger Guard, rippled at the sides to fend off the occasional slash and stab. Being calloused in the fingers, broad of shoulders, thick of legs, and testy in the face gave her the personification of a fighter.

'Rindiel,' she said. 'Hopefully, you come with work.' She sat upright.

'Larethia, that last job we put you on didn't go quite as well. And you got Glorian killed in the process.'

Larethia stood at that, her tongue molesting the front of her teeth. 'What can I say? Idiots don't last long in the Leucrota.' She turned her eyes my way. 'Who is this?'

'This is the Black Raven.'

That put a stop to the rest of the Leucrota. Heads turned and faces wrinkled. Murmurs began at the back.

'You. Are. Not. Serious.'

One of the card players came to me. A scarred fellow with a two-toned eye glaring. It didn't seem their little group would give me the warm welcome I so deserved. There wasn't anything I didn't expect to happen yet. My name flowed through their ranks as did the name of the Silver Crescents. They knew who I was, and they knew what I was capable of. These people were my enemies, and now I was to become one of them.

The title of thieves' guild is usually awarded to the criminal entity of like-minded mortals that have cornered the market in a set province. Where all other thieves and criminals alike answered to a single organization. The Thieves of the Wood was such the enterprise. Their roots reach in every corner of Valenwood. Everyone knew of them. They knew the key players on their roundtable. The ones who played their cards and tossed their coin at the top. But what the Thieves of the Wood became after their infant years was something more than a simple guild of burglars and robbers. They were a hierarchy of the underground; they were a society of shadow and stolen coin. And they had an army to meet the challenge of anyone.

To understand the depth of this hidden and not so hidden world would require more of your and my time. But my brother knew that he did. He knew what he was up against and he never faltered even at the very end. I was still alive, and I didn't take to flinching when peering into the Void.

'Ain't you the girl the live up in the Boss' Iron Wing? Right across from the Boss' own chambers?'

Larethia gritted her teeth and turned. 'He sent us his whore?'

'Yeah! Yeah! I remember you,' another said. 'The wild one he keeps locked like a caged bird.'

That got the gang grumbling.

'The Black Raven as the Boss' personal pet,' Larethia sneered and jittered that sort of laughter that said, "I'm better than you."

I thought about smashing my head into that mouth of hers. They crowded around now. A show of a freak for all to see. The roving circus was in town, I suppose, and this little birdy has tricks o' plenty. I stood there, the subject of their imaginings, wishing I wasn't. Monsotar's whore, pet, and his subordinate? This is what they believed I was?

Another came up, bypassing Rindiel and reaching for me. A slick smile on his face. I froze at his approach. That night when Monsotar had the same air took me in its grip, and the memory started in my mind. He came, his mouth slackened to a grin, evil and ready. He took my arm and lowered his mouth to my ear. 'Whore is it?' His hot breath licked on my neck. 'That's good. That means you'll put out when—'

I grabbed his finger and twisted it. 'Why would you do that? Why would you ever think it's a good idea to touch me?' I twisted it further.

He was quick with his counter. He reached for me, hand wide and hurdling for my throat, but not at all faster than me. I whipped my dagger from its sheath and slipped it into his gut. The blade slid easy just under his ribcage and not in a fatal point. He flinched, but I couldn't drag him down with it. This one had some strength. He faltered on the throttling and chose to hang on my collar instead. I looked him in his eyes. They were wide and full of sorrow. Mer like him are the ones to slip from the pack and hunt for the girls. He thrills in it. Taking virginities, rough and assaulting, and preying on them with a toxic mind. They're the lowest of degenerates, lower than insects and the creatures smaller than they.

'Never touch me.' I took my dagger from his belly and pushed it slowly through his jaw. I did it tantalizingly, I wanted to feel every inch of Elren's Osseinium dagger slipping in his flesh and taking his life. Blood bathed my hand and his face. It penetrated his brain. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving his body limp. Just a wriggling mess of a Bosmer.

At my back, the Leucrota grew silent. All of them watched as I took the life of their friend. Not a single protest about it either, not even from Rindiel who stood at my side.

Rindiel was always easy to read. More annoyed than angry. I let the Leucrota member slip from the blade, making that sloppy wet suck as I withdrew it slowly. I turned to, and they watched me.

'What was this Mer's name?' I pointed to one of them with my bloody dagger.

'Timlo Greenfeet,' he said.

'What was he good at?

'He was a subversive for hire. A Saboteur.'

'Who are you?' I asked him.

He stepped forward, throat bobbing. 'Name's Ropoven Falcon-Branch. This bunch calls me Falcon; I prefer that.'

'And you carver?' I pointed to the one in his apron.

He straightened. 'Fentiin Bark-Smith.'

The tip of my dagger went down the line.

'Reiran Treefort.'

'Dark Tooth.'

'Mondo Bow-Caster.'

'And you, ugly?' I asked.

'Name's Orc,' he snorted. 'Cause I look like one.'

'You?'

'Grim,' the Bosmer said with a grating voice. There was animosity written in him. He at least looked formidable. One of the few here that could probably take me in a fight. But I was never the one to fight fair, and I doubted he did either.

Finally, I pointed to Larethia. I knew her name. She seemed to lead the gang. I wanted her to say it because if she didn't that meant she rebelled against me. And I wasn't going to be squeamish on killing the whole lot of them. She didn't say anything. I smiled gently.

'What's the matter,' I asked. 'Having a moment of pride? Let it wash into you, Larethia. Know it. Feel it. Realize because of it, you'll die.' I pointed towards the entry. 'Either out there or right here. Or worse, you could let it kill the rest of this sorry cluster of bird scat.' Those eyes challenged me, so I took a step to meet her face to face.

Larethia was taller than me by a hands length. I pushed my dagger down in its sheath and held my bloodied hand between our faces.

'Heed to me,' I said. 'Contrary to what you see, your friend's blood is on _your_ hands. You knew what he was about, and you knew the name of the Black Raven. This is your fault, Larethia.' I put my hand under her chin and caressed it softly, leaving streaks of blood in the wake of my fingers. 'I'm Monsotar's Crow, not his whore. I'll murder all of you if I must. I'll sacrifice every one of your sorry lives to spread my shadow. So, heed.'

Our eyes met, and she read into them. A deep look that only those who've experienced the same hurt can know to do. She saw the walls in me and peeked over them. Larethia didn't say a word because at that moment where we looked at each other's soul, all my hurt was exposed. The mangling of someone that once knew good, loneliness, love, and pain. A broken child that was shielded by stone and iron walls from the world. She knew my past, and I knew hers from just one momentary exchange.

At that moment, I knew we were the same.

* * *

The bucket of water reflected my blood-splattered face. I had some questions about who looked back up. Someone else's blood dripped into that water, swirling, causing ripples across the surface. It skewered the reflection. Blood ripples skewered my mind. A different girl reflected.

My hands made it hard to clean them as if the weight of my sins didn't want me to forget them. They trembled like Nirn trembles during groundquakes. I collapsed to my knees, the hard ground clacking against my leathers. The sobs won't stop. Perhaps they'll never stop. I didn't want them to. I thought I've shed all the tears I could, but that was wrong. And it is that wrongness that I am deemed weak.

'No more outbursts,' Rindiel said at my back.

I looked up at him, blurry through the tears. 'Why didn't you stop me?'

'It's better to let a fire rage and put it out when it's down to a few smoldering specks.' He approached.

With the rag in his hands, he eased it into the water, a motion that was almost loving, and brought it my cheek. 'This is your only chance to honor them.'

The way he moved, the softness in his eyes and his touch, and how he lowered his guard in this place. He did it around me. It all confused me. He took up my trembling hands and the warmth of his soothed mine. I never noticed that he still bared his tribe's sigils. He dipped them in the water and worked the dried blood from my nails slowly as to make sure he got all of it.

'Why did you do it?' I asked. 'The truth.'

'You know the truth.'

'I only know the truth you allowed Elren to believe. But I know there's more to it. The death of your family was because of something more than the loss of the old ways.'

'People define reality by what they accept as true. A perception created by such vague concepts are susceptible to mirages. Like you, Elren is shaped by his beliefs. By what I've shown him.' He dipped my hands in the bucket again. 'Elren detested me because he knows what I did to our tribe. He viewed the world based on that reality.'

'Are you saying there is another motive behind it? I always felt there was something more to your betrayal—something Elren saw that I was missing.'

Rindiel snared me with his glare. 'Elren loved you, Leila Lockharte. You would hold me to my sins, but he loved you even so.'

'Elren couldn't love me,' I said peering back into the bloody water. 'There was never a day when it was okay too. Never a time when we can open our hearts to each other. It wasn't I who rejected him, but he who rejected me. There's just too much violence there.'

'You don't see past your own perceptions. And you refuse to. Which makes it kind of ironic, right?' Rindiel stood. 'You are truly an unkind person, Black Raven.'


	27. Objective Unbound

_Larethia was an unlikely friend in a place unlikely to bear one. A dead tree with a single fruit on its stem. If there was any death I regretted the most, it was hers._

* * *

Chapter 27: Objectives Unbound

Out on the forest paths, ass to Fellhog, I found myself hankering for the past time stories of Esmond and the illicit jokes of Aranwen. Instead, I studied penned lines on scroll of some ruin built by the heartland elves. I found it odd that the elves that built themselves a society to worship the forsaken ones called themselves wild but superiors. Which was perhaps the reason they fell to human slaves before they could establish any sort of empire.

I missed them, my brothers that is. Esmond, Elren, Ceril, Sickle, and Augoth were in my thoughts too. Elren and Augoth, I wasn't so sure were dead, to be honest. But it's been too long without a bump in the night, a plan to save me, or even a rumor of them living.

I've come to terms that it might just be me left. Just me with the heart of silver, hands of crescents, and a sword of violet. The Silver Crescents were gone. All that's left was me and Monsotar's story and his plans.

I held out the scroll, hard pressed to read it in the dark forest gloom. I swooped a _Sepulcher Glass Frog_ and let the bugger hop around the parchment. Its translucent skin allowed strobing light from its beating heart to illuminate the map. 'Stay, dammit.' I blocked the frog from propelling off the page with his bent legs.

The Fellhog made a quick jerk over a collapsed root wall and sent the creature flying. 'Baan Dar's quick hands kill me now,' I cursed.

'What is our task?' Larethia pulled up beside me.

I glanced her. She watched me from the darkness of her hood. 'We're but a quarter day away,' I said. 'We'll reach the excavation site at dawn.'

'What are they looking for?' She asked. 'What the Oblivion are we looking for?'

'Don't you know how Monsotar operates? What better to put him further along his agenda than to kidnap Mer who knows things?'

Even in the low light of the forest where the trees and plants glowed, and the animal's hearts pulsed with bioluminescence, I couldn't see her face. But I could feel those teeth clench and the muscles of her jaws knot.

'It doesn't matter what the task is; it matters on whether or not we're prepared for it,' Larethia growled. 'We need to plan with you. That's how we do it.'

'All this grumbling and the only planning you'll be doing is with the worms.' I halted my Fellhog.

I twirled my arm in the air, and the others gathered around me. 'Listen up.' I swirled the steed to the front as they circled. 'The Tam'Akar has sent a group of scholars, archeologists, and minors with important information about what the ancient elves knew. We need them alive because one or two or three of them may know something about something, and we all know what Monsotar will do if we return empty-handed.' I turned to capture their attention. 'There's going to be some opposition with their escorts. In addition to the scrawn-pile of milkdrinkers, there'll be two dozen Aldmeri soldiers sitting at their side ready for indecent fuckers like us.'

'Two dozen? You want us to challenge two dozen moonstone-clad Aldmeri soldiers?' Fentiin from somewhere in the back.

I rolled the scroll and tucked it away. 'Is that too many for the lot of you? If you can't handle it, I'll do it myself.'

'You'll kill two dozen soldiers? All by yourself?' Dark Tooth now with a snort to punctuate his disbelief.

'Oh, my little Toothy.' I gave him a small grin. 'I fought with Florentine the Terramancer and Aridiil the Nefarious and nearly ended the life your leader, Rindiel. I am the Black Raven of Shimmer Root—I burned over a hundred Aldmeri Soldiers in Arenthia and didn't think it too many.'

* * *

We traveled for another three hours before we broke into the awkward silence. No one was comfortable with my being here. Surprisingly enough, the conversation that started was light-hearted. I could have talked to them, but once someone decides to speak to me, I felt the need to defend myself with threats and sharp-edged banter. It starts to tire your mind when they're your own comrades.

I had to ask myself if I would ever consider any of them as _my_ comrades. They hated me, but we had to work together. I needed them to cooperate. If they didn't, then that makes my promise even more difficult to fulfill. I couldn't let Milkar's memory down. He wanted to see Monsotar's network crumbling, and the Tam'Akar destroyed. They were always our main focus, and it'll stay that way until I breathe my last breath.

Many of the Leucrota had some redeeming traits. They weren't blundering louts that didn't know anything about anything. They were good at their jobs, good at being criminals. But I suppose Monsotar's elite army of thieves and criminals shouldn't have been taken lightly. I did though. And there are certain mistakes that I could learn from. These are lessons that I had to instill in myself so nothing like what happened to Silver Crescents will ever happen again. I can't let it. I can't let it happen to the Leucrota or else I forfeit my path.

There was Larethia Rain-Leaf. Rain-Leaf was a name I recognized during my tenure with Tutor Rollyn. "Clan Rain-Leaf was a disgraced name," he said as his lesson of Empire history dragged on. The clan led Valenwood's forces in two failed wars before my ancestor created the Ranger Guard. That name hasn't had any prestige since then. Despite that, their mastery of wind destruction and combat skills are renowned to this day. They incorporated _aeromancy_ in their swordsmanship. A convincing trait if I had anything to say of it. And I did. The girl in front of me was strong. She was more than likely my better. A threat to me in the long run, or an imperative ally. There's Reiran Treefort who wasn't like the others. A decent enough head sat on his shoulders, and he's probably the only one that hasn't challenged my authority. He watches me as if expecting me to fail or succeed, whichever the one, I couldn't know. The self-taught Iron-Bark carver, Fentiin Bark-Smith was shrewd old elf pushing the end of his first century. He was born fourth generation Bark-Smith and first-generation useless. The clan of the Bark-Smiths was once one of the confederates of the Lockharte family, but our clans haven't worked Iron-Bark farms long before any of our fathers or their fathers, and he's probably the first to have created anything Iron-Bark since the Oblivion Crisis. Falcon and Dark Tooth were the two openly senseless members of the Leucrota. How these two became Nightblades hopped over my head. Perhaps when whatever makes things work in our minds comes undone in some parts, it tightens in others. An uneven trade for the worst traits and the best. There's nothing much to say about Orc except that his Mother and Father were siblings and their parents before them as well.

There's Mondo Bow-Caster, a conjurer of ethereal bows. He could summon them in all shapes and sizes with an unlimited number of arrows if needed. Having him in someone's army would have been instrumental, but he reminded me far too much of Andalf the Conjurer of the Tam'Akar.

Lest we forget Sul Shadow-Root, a Nocturnal worshipper and a grandmaster sneak-thief. It was hard for anyone to know her. We always forgot Sul Shadow-Root. She slips from the mind as easily as the bug that just flew past your nose. What bug? Exactly. That was her magic. There was a moment where I had forgotten her existence entirely and thought she was a random rider that slipped into our party. It takes effort to keep her in your thoughts as if your brain wants to dismiss her.

And then there's Grim, riding along with his long face and his dark features. Grim didn't like me very much. But after riding with him for the past few days, I learned that Grim didn't like anyone, so I didn't take it personally. If brooding were a person, it'd be him.

We stopped two thousand paces from the excavation site, far enough to avoid detection and close enough to reach our Fellhogs in case we needed a swift escape. We hid them in a caved mouth at the base of a tree. Come, predator, they'll have a chance to escape or fight back. But nothing in these woods would brave a Fellhog. They are smart animals that would eat you for wronging it, then hunt your kin and eat them as well. I smacked my fat girl as I left it.

'Gather around.' I called them. 'Gather around.' They trotted too slow for my liking, and it took a lot from me to hold the anger in me until I was done handing out tasks. 'Are we all here?'

'Get on with it,' Grim commanded. 'Bad enough we're taking orders from a child.'

I chuckled and shook my head. 'I'm no child, Grim. I'm fifteen, and in my world, that's old enough to fuck you, marry you, or kill you, but unfortunately, you might possibly be uglier than our little Orc over there. And even he is expected to copulate with someone… albeit his sister…'

That got the gang giggling.

Falcon chuckled. 'Grim's just mad you killed his good friend, Timlo, the flagrant fellow.'

'I'll tell you what—you can help me take on the Dominion, and the others can gather the information we need. Fair?'

'As long as you don't get in my way.' He said. 'And no… I don't care who you kill. But I can see it. They all can. You think you're better than us, and it angers me. You think you can do whatever you want and that's why I hate you.' Grim started towards the ruins, brushing past me, all frowns. 'Even rogues like us have rules.'

I showed them my map and my markings. I knew how to play to their strengths but work on their weaknesses. There were more lessons I learned as criminal other than how to disrupt the régime and fighting the Dominion and the Woods. Sometimes, I didn't play well on a team, but I knew how to. It's the indirect lessons I always played, those learned subconsciously when you're unaware.

Grim was right, in a way, I did think I was better than them. I didn't know them; I didn't want to know them. That nice girl that shot targets on Mother's field was gone, hidden in the Black Raven's darkest of shadows. Somewhere along the way I'd buried her and warped my soul into something different. I often wondered what my life would have been like had I never set a foot off that field long ago; if I didn't give into Elren's charm; if I didn't say yes to Milkar's proposal. What if I didn't feel at home at his side.

I looked across the faces of my new comrades. These people were of Monsotar's ilk. There was a time I wouldn't think twice about taking every single one of their lives. I would kill them with arrow and sword and be happy for it. But that was then, and this is now. Now was the time to win. My last chance to succeed. A promise needed fulfilling.

'It's better we strike them as they break their fast. That way both soldier and worker are caught off guard. Larethia, I want you with me. You're a fighter, and I'll need you up close and personal. I will support you with my bow and arrows. Count yourself lucky, I hardly ever use my bow anymore, but I've never missed.' I turned to the others. 'Reiran, you seem the most capable next to Larethia, so I'll have you lead the rest down into the excavation here, here, and here. Gather all the workers and scholars and their precious findings. Leave nothing back, okay?'

'You got it,' Reiran replied, nodding his head.

'Grim will come with us, Larethia. He'll be your back up when we close in on the soldiers. Bark-Smith, you'll be the one to identify what it is Monsotar will be most interested in.'

I withdrew Twilight's Talon and put it on display for the Leucrota to see. 'This is the sword I used to fight the Tam'Akar. Augoth Thornbush enchanted it for me. Its depth of power is still unknown, but that day in Arenthia, it revealed itself as something terrible. The day I killed over a hundred Dominion Soldiers was a turning point in my life. It led me here, to you all. Now…I don't know if I could repeat what happened, and I don't know if I want to. But just know that I understand you, no matter what you may believe about me. We came to be here for some reason on the other, and it's not because we hate Valenwood. We bathe in our sins because that's all we were taught to understand. There are no half measures with us. We can't half hate; we can't half love.'

I once said we saved the biggest lies for ourselves and that might have been the wisest thing to come from me in all my years. The shadows I lived in was a very empty place, and I was lost.

Orc stepped up with approval in his eyes. 'Cometh passion, cometh strength. Power and victory hand in hand. Leucrota, dogs of the forest, of the myth, and of the land.'

We stood around for moment's breath, but at that moment, I felt as if we were finally coming to understand each other.

What was the right path? I once required an answer for it. I would shake all Nirn if it produced one, but now, where a wiser Mer would turn away to search another path, the ignorant ones forge their own.

We came upon the ruins slowly, and sure enough, they were up. The Altmer nibbled on their salads and Isle fruit. Minors and scholars alike ate their dried meats in good cultural fashion. The Leucrota did what they did best. Larethia and Grim snuck around the ivory obelisk, broken from centuries of disrepair but still tall enough hide a unit of mer behind. The Thalmor were here in the form of two justiciars. Like the Tam'Akar for the elves, a justiciar's job was to weed out worshippers of the man-gods. But there were times a justiciar would have a run in with Wild Bosmer or elves that didn't take well to the Altmer's ancestor claims. Anyhow, Justiciars were dangerous, but they weren't Tam'Akar agent dangerous.

'Take this,' Mondo said, offering me a quiver full of arrows.

The arrows smelled of magicka, a thick, unnatural burning echoing of a whispered incantation. I dropped them tip first into my own quiver. They were conjured aspects only in existence for as long as Mondo's magicka could last. Mondo weaved an incantation, meant for garnering magicka in a single point. Facing forward, Larethia came upon two soldiers lounging among the stone of old. Pillars broken down from years of absence by their maintainers blocked the one. I waited.

Not many could hold accountability to this claim, but I was better with my bow than I was with a sword, polearm, dagger, ax, or mace. I was no Ara of the _Ghost Bow_ , but the High-Arrow skill ran deep in my blood. Many would also say my draw to the sword was apart of my rebellion of my mother's legend. Even in my subconscious, I rejected her standard for heroism.

Larethia approached the first of her victims. The Altmer stood gleaming in his armor, chewing that flat cracker-bread they loved so much. Grim took another target that was standing adjacent to the cracker-eater.

'I'll take the third,' I told Mondo. 'You get the one standing on the slate-ridge.'

Mondo nodded. 'It's a hard shot.'

'That's relative to our respective skills, is it not?' I flashed him a grin.

Larethia went in for her kill. She slipped in the Altmer's guard like a draft of wind on a breezy day and slipped her knife past his gorget. The Altmer's struggle died, and she pulled him down. Grim's methods were a little less precise but just as effective. He wrapped his arms around the High Elve's head; a hand intertwined in her blonde locks and another hand on her chin as he jerked her neck in an interesting position. She fell forward immediately. I took aim, pulling my bowstring to my anchor point, and sent the arrow home. It flew and found purchase through the bridge of his nose and out the back of his head as he tried to stand.

Mondo's target hung from the edge of the slate-ridge in an awkward prone.

'I didn't even see your bow.'

He raised his palm facing the sky, and a magical object lay there, disappearing and reappearing depending on the angle you glance at it. 'The Conjuration school is an odd thing unlike the other schools of magic. Conjurors use their own magicka to grab magicka from the planes of Oblivion and connect it with Mundus. Oblivion magicka can infuse with the magicka of this realm to become something tangible. From there, I can cast any spell I wish on this bow.'

'So, it's less of an object and more like magicka that you've changed yourself?' I asked him.

'The mages of Nirn only say magicka because it's similar to the energy that Magnus has left behind, but it isn't magicka, it's something else that acts like magicka in this realm. Something we don't understand.'

'What if the energy we know as magicka is like that? And like your Oblivion magicka, merely acts the way it does to which we classify it as magicka.' I saw the gear churning in his mind.

'Perhaps.' He nodded.

'So… how do we explain the _Ghost Flame_?'

Mondo turned away at that. 'An impossibility.'

'Impossible?'

'The reason why conjurors summon objects or Daedra from the realm of Oblivion is that that it's all predetermined. The _Ghost Flame_ isn't a flame, in the same way, this,' he held his bounded bow between us, 'is a bow.'

'The _Ghost Flame_ is the energy Oblivion needs to exist.'

'Is it the same stuff as your bounded bow?'

'It's the same stuff the planes of Oblivion are made up of. If destruction is Mehrunes Dagon and Mehrunes Dagon is destruction, the energy that is the " _Ghost Flame_ " is what gives an aspect tangibility in Oblivion.' Mondo stroked his chin. 'It isn't a ghost or a flame, Raven. It's an aspect in physical form. Ask yourself why is it that we see it in the characteristic of a fire.'

In the distance, Grim and Larethia dropped two more Soldiers. I shot an arrow at another, revealing himself from behind an obelisk. He crumbled with the clanking of his armor.

'You're not as dumb as you look, Leucrota.'

He offered a bow. 'Studied at the College of Winterhold in Northern Skyrim, the coldest place on Tamriel. It paid to be smart there. More so than down here in Valenwood.'

In a time before I made the Thieves of the Wood my mortal enemies, we could have been friends. Perhaps all the Leucrota could have made my acquaintance. Their quality was accounted for despite the anger and loathing they held in their hearts. And their distorted view on their goals. But what was so different between them and me? They reacted to the issues plaguing Valenwood the same way I have done since becoming a rogue. What did that do so differently from me? That answer wasn't as hidden as I thought it was.

My mother wielded her wrath in her hands and used it as a weapon. Maybe the Thornbush's ability was all about bringing forth the exuberance of one's soul and using this constructive power to bring it out. If Mother's soul drew the raw power of Oblivion, what would I draw?

'This is all needless death.' I spoke it, but no one else heard. Mondo busied himself with firing his arrows.

'Let's head down and—'

A shift underfoot sent me lurching forward and from our perch. It wasn't so much I hit the ground but that it hit me. My head reeled, a mouthful of dirt muffled my cry. I peeled myself from the ground, and it shook again, throwing me backward and on my ass. This time, Mondo fell. A pillar of earth reached up high to batter him into the nearest root wall. I twirled around, an arrow already pulled and nocked to my bowstring and saw it.

'Damn.'

A sand golem, charged like a rolling wall of dirt, was running straight at me. I released the arrow and shot it squared in its head. That did nothing. Before it could tackle me, I threw myself to the side, and it collided with the ridgeline. It hadn't the time to recover before I volleyed it with three of Mondo's conjured arrows.

A roar set the ground to rumbling, breaking and fissuring under my feet. I pounced up the wall of the ridge, my feet pounding footholds in the dirt, and leaped into the air. Height gives the archer clearer shots. Although magically gathered dust may not hold vitals like us Mer, it is a transcending aspect of the "living" that bodily harm can cause death. The sand thrall shook the ground as it fell but didn't let up the fight. I landed just before its struggling form, a cloud of dust kicking up to shroud us. Quickly, I withdrew Twilight's Talon and pierced the thing while it was down. My sword drew from it, the magicka that gave it sentience. The sword's third rune glowing that similar violet hue.

Twilight's Talon's third power: Absorption.

It didn't just absorb magicka, but that energy that a body possesses simply off the virtue of being in motion, the energy of friction and heat, and the waves of sound.

I found Mondo half-buried by the degradation of ground. The slow rise of chest told me he'd lived. 'Wake up.' I prodded his body. He awoke with a groan. 'We must go and save the others!'

Mondo stood, startled but fighting through the fog of his mind the best he could. He was tougher than he looked. I turned back towards Grim and Larethia, Mondo close behind, and pushed into the ruins. I swarm of soldiers buzzed in like a swarm of Marabuntas on the warpath for their queen. Grim was surrounded, and Larethia fought through the crowd of them to reach escape.

She maneuvered swiftly, whirlwinds shifting on her flanks. It was a clever use of her wind affinity that allowed her to fight without worrying about attacks from behind. That made me think of Liemo's terrifying power. And where the bastard was only a child, his air destruction magic was masterful. But Larethia was no Liemo, whatever blessings of magicka the god's bestowed on the young Altmer, they didn't have a mind of fairness to give everyone such a deep wellspring of the stuff.

'Mondo, help Grim, I'll help Larethia!' The conjuror sent a flurry of arrows into the crowd that converged on Grim. Their cries screeched high, the clanking of their armor frantic.

I caught the first two soldiers in their focus on Larethia. A scissor slash across their backs ended them.

'Don't let them out alive!' A soldier called to the others. 'Bring their heads to Lady Florentine.'

'Lady Florentine is here?' I asked him but ended his life before he could answer. So, I spoke to the rest of them. 'Tell her to come—I've been in the waiting for a second go at her.'

'I wouldn't be challenging the Tam'Akar, Raven.' Larethia steered her leaf-bladed sword over her head and fanned three soldiers with a large gust of wind. 'Seriously, if you want us dead, just tell us.'

'I—'

'Ever the rebel, Leila Lockharte.' The ground began to shake, throwing us off balance. 'Or should I say, "Black Raven?"'

'Say whatever you wish to say, lady.'

A wall of perfect symmetry grew from the ground. It had to be as tall as two elves. The grandiose perfection of the stone seemed impossible to carve even for Bark-Smith. Slowly, the chasm opened, revealing Florentine. Despite coming from the ground, she had not a speck of dirt on her nice Inquisitor robes. As beautiful as ever, those golden eyes and blackest, fine pupils were the tips of daggers ready to pierce. The Altmer's hair flowed to her shoulders like a river of white and shine.

I laughed nervously. 'You should save yourself the trouble and stay in that box of stone, Inquisitor. It's what they'll use to bury whatever remains of you when I'm done.'

Florentine wore a fond little smile like someone happy to see a friend. I wasn't her friend. 'Oh dear, Leila. What happened to the beautiful little face of yours? You look dirty and unkept.'

'It's good to see you too, Lady Florentine.' I faked a bow. It isn't good to take your eyes from someone like her. 'Now, might I ask, are you here in person, or is this another one of your atronachs?'

'In the flesh, my dear.'

I pounced before she proved it, Twilight's Talon straight for her heart. Florentine was quick and graceful. She picked up her palm and shot a rock shard towards me, forcing me to divert the attack. I slipped to the side and hopped over another shard hurdled towards.

The ridges of the ruins towered above the excavation site, stone walls that once stood taller than giants fell and collected mud and sediment over the passage of the eras, I heard the Leucrota battling with soldiers. Surprisingly, Grim and Mondo were doing well with their own throng of Dominion troops while Larethia and I stood with Florentine before us.

Her magic came fast, stone spikes, sandblasts, and boulders flying at us with the ferocity of beasts. Larethia's wind magic protected her like an absolute defense, keeping her flanks clear and countered on attacks she couldn't do herself. Me, on the other hand, relied on Twilight's Talon's magnificent enchantment to eat away at Florentine's spells and incantations. Florentine pushed us with a wave of sand and slammed her hands to the ground, causing the forest floor to rip in half. I twirled to the side as the floor cracked and broke like breaking the halves of Altmerish bread. I landed in front of the inquisitor, Larethia stuck on the other side.

'You've obviously grown, Raven,' Florentine said. She unbuckled her familiar Thalmor robes and allowed it to fall to the floor. 'But you've not a shred of wisdom that comes with age.'

'I've learned what you and Aridiil have been doing in the shadows. The horrors…the suffering.'

'A feast of lies fed to turn the tip of your sword to our necks. You believe to be following your own path but look at what you've accomplished. You've done nothing to further your cause and have done everything to make things worse. Where are your brothers, Leila? Where's the turn around for the Royal tribes of Valenwood? You've failed—All you've done was show the world that instead of assimilating, you would rather turn to terrorism, disorder, and lawlessness. Is this your idea of a hero?'

I struggled to refute her words. She was right. This life got my brothers killed. I wanted my own reputation, something that would distinguish me from my mother. I got it. But at what cost? I shouted to the Void hoping that it would accept me when I should have rebelled against everything. I was wrong. This was wrong. My body, mind, and soul were shredded in many places. I am left raped and torn and hurt from it all. Was this liberation? Was this all worth it? There's nothing left to say.

I let my brother go to his death, and it was all my fault. Had I used my skill towards a different path, there wouldn't have been a war. I wouldn't have become his warrior. All of our lives would have been spared.

Finally, Florentine raised a hand towards me. 'Come,' she said, softly. 'It is not too late. You're not too far gone. Come now, and everything will be forgiven. I promise.'

'Everything?' I asked. Her offer grew enticing with every moment.

She smiled and nodded. 'Despite their differences, Aridiil respected your mother, and he respects your father. They fight for the same side. He will understand. Come, child. Redemption awaits you.'

Florentine walked closer towards me, her arms ready for an embrace. 'Remember when I said your aspiration will crush you. Have they, Leila? Has being the Black Raven killed your soul?

There comes a time when a mortal must choose the person they want to be for the rest of their lives. With time, the path becomes clearer and clearer, but there are often times where the path becomes blurred or shrouded in darkness, and you begin to lose yourself. Perhaps these were those times for me. I think deep down, I knew that I was making a mistake and that my promise to Milkar as always had false premises. An impossible impossibility. I tried to take Valenwood on by myself, and no one told me that it would be too much. I tried to become my mother while screaming to the wind that I would never be her. The most disappointing part is that I failed on both fronts.

Her golden glare blazed before me with eyes as intense as the sun. She knelt to meet my height and wiped away hair plastered to my skin. Her hand was pail, dark veins webbed across it. Florentine's beauty was far too intense to meet head-on.

'What do I do? How do I stop this?'

'You—'

The winds began to pick up. Florentine threw herself to the side, and a shield of earth stretched and curved over her body. I let it flow over me and drag me away from the Altmer.

'Are serious, Raven?' Larethia landed before me with her dust devils sprouting from both sides. 'Milkar. Aranwen. Esmond. Ceril. Sickle. Elren. Augoth. You let their sacrifices go to waste.'

'Larethia? How do you—' The howling of her flurries grew loud.

'There are those the people you were about to let down. Don't you remember their sacrifices?'

'I'm the one that got them killed!' Tears fell from my eyes now.

'From the stories I've heard about you, I thought you were just a haughty, overbearing, pretentious brat with too much skill and potential that you didn't know how to use the power that came of it. That was all until the first time I saw you. When you appeared with Rindiel, I knew you hid behind a façade. I saw myself in your eyes. I saw the hurt and a lot of it.'

Larethia launched a cross-strike attack of air at Florentine's shell of rock. The powerful attack cut into the Altmer's shield and left long cracks against its integrity. 'You are easily manipulated because of your childish views of rebellion. But no…this world needed people like you, your brothers, and your friends. I needed someone like you.'

'Larethia…'

'You haven't failed yet.'

I stood. 'I—' I choked. 'My heart cannot find the light again. I never had it.'

'So, don't, Raven. Maybe you're not supposed to. But what I can't let you do is lose yourself as I have. Everyone I've ever loved died because I faltered, and their deaths will always be in vain.'

Florentine's shield broke, and she stood a very angry Altmer. I gripped Twilight's Talon's hilt and raised leveled to my eyes. Three runes against its winged crossguard glimmered violet. Florentine gritted her teeth. She saw no redemption in me, not anymore. A door closed shut.

'You're radicalized, Leila. It's time for you to die now.' Florentine raised the ground below us and sent chunks of earth flying upward.

As the ground reversed its position, Larethia used her winds to grab us in a cushioned gust. Rocks and boulders, pure dirt flew in all directions, breaking and crunching down all around us. It took everything we had to dip out of the way of the carnage. Her own soldiers were crushed under the hail of destruction.

'Raven use your sword!' Larethia exclaimed.

I sliced through the fly rocks, the stone parting before my blade like an ax to bone. I jumped, feeling Larethia's magic engulf me and carried me through the air. I cut a clear path to Florentine, her mouth agape. As she weaved a new spell, my blade made it to her. 'This isn't about whose path I follow, but about what happens when I reach the end of the one I'm on!' Twilight's Talon dragged, and its path cut short. 'Damn it!' The blade didn't connect. Instead, a pillar of rock shaped like a hand gripped the end of the sword. Larethia's wind pulled me back.

'She's good,' Larethia said. 'How in the Void did you survive them before?'

'Uncanny luck,' I told her. 'But this time, with you, we can win once and for all.'

'And us.' Grim came up from behind. His leathers were singed with destruction magic burns. Mondo was close behind.

Above, across the ridge, the Leucrota began to appear. Each baring their weapons at the Tam'Akar.

'Oh! Oh! Ooooooooooooooooo!' Falcon howled like a wolf.

'Oh! Ooooooooooo!' Larethia joined them.

'That's the thing about a pack, Black Raven,' Grim began. 'They rely on each other.'

'Dogs led by a Raven.' I grinned. 'Let's call it an Unkind Pack.'

The worry set in Florentine's blazing pupils. She began to back up. 'Imagine that,' she said.

From above, Dark Tooth threw a single studded Cestus at Florentine. The metal glove clacked against the Altmer's head and hit the floor with a thud. The Leucrota exploded in laughter, even I felt the crackle in my throat.

'Ouchy. Ouchy. Snooty.' Dark Tooth laughed and jumped down the ridge, licking his lips and stretching the other Cestus over his hands. 'I'll be taking that back.'

'Die savage!' Florentine an arm to launch a spell, but Larethia punched the air before her, sending a gust of wind crashing into the Tam'Akar agent.

It was to my disappointment that I was duped once again. Florentine crashed to the ground and broke in several places. The Leucrota jumped away, their laughter cut into shock.

'Sand?'

'Oh yeah…' I stalked towards Florentine as she struggled to stand, but her crumbling body made it impossible. 'She can do that.' I grabbed a handful of her flesh, and my hand came away muddy. 'Don't think any amount of us could win against the real her.'

'Raven?'

'Nothing against the Leucrota,' I explained. 'Florentine is a master of earth destruction magic. She can create anything out of dirt and mud. Magic makes this world. My sword allows me to contend with the Tam'Akar, and even the greatest warriors need enchanted weapons to fight mages.'

'That isn't right,' Reiran said. 'Yeesh.'

'This is what we're up against?' Mondo asked.

I nodded. The Leucrota began to circle the dying Sand Thrall. Slowly, I absorbed the magicka out of the Florentine replica and turned it to dust. 'This is the Tam'Akar, everyone. Aridiil, Florentine, Liemo, and Andalf. And hundreds more on the other side of the Blue Divide, ready for their chance to come over here.'

There's a wave waiting in the west to engulf the rest of Tamriel. The Thalmor lay in wait, sending their snakes here to weed away at those they deem beneath. We didn't have a shield to protect us. The people in charge, my father and his league of politicians, lead an autocracy of idiots.

'Listen up!' The Leucrota's eyes turned to. I watched them back. There was reluctance in their understanding. The Tam'Akar frightened them as they should. Even for Altmer, the Tam'Akar are too powerful. 'We struggled against this thrall. A thrall made from one of the Tam'Akar agents Terramancy. Something like that may be terrifying to some of you if not all.' I sighed. 'It terrifies me. But this is what we're up against. This is our enemy. And we cannot lose.'

'Monsotar expects us to win against something like that?'

'Monsotar was expecting to win against them. My brothers and I wanted to weaken Monsotar, so we did everything possible to do just that. We thought Monsotar would also use his gained power to control Valenwood, and in a way, he has. We lost. The Tam'Akar are still thriving, and both the Thieves of the Wood and the Silver Crescents are weakened.'

Orc jumped from the top of the ridge and stalked towards me holding a small journal. 'I found this on one of the workers down in the excavation site. It ain't much, but it might hold some insight on what we were sent here for.'

I took it and flipped through its contents. Minors and Ayleid scholars were sent here on a mission to find the Oblivion fires. The Oblivion fires only described as the most versatile power in all Valenwood. It put me in the mind of Mother's _Ghost Flame_. I turned the book over and over to understand what I was reading. As far as anyone else knew, the _Ghost Flame's_ origin had always been Augoth Thornbush. Ara High-Arrow sought him during the Oblivion Crisis for power that could combat the hordes of Daedra pouring in from the Oblivion gates. Augoth's power was not a simple thing to understand. He wasn't a simple enchanter; his power originated from his blood and not from years of practice in the School of Enchanting. The Telvanni masters of the Dunmer tell it that the Laws of the Firsts govern the school.

Enchantments might be a simple thing looking in from the outside. Powered by a soul of any mortal or immortal creature, you may place a spell on an object. The Thornbush's bloodline limit was significantly different and significantly the same, in its own right. Augoth was such a being that his blood played the role of power. Without it, anything he enchanted was…normal. But when activated with his bare hands, something opens. Like a gate to the Void, he let spill powers, not of this realm.

Augoth himself said that Mother's power was an accident that cost him years of his life and the potency of his power. People like Aridiil and Monsotar are drawn to her power for what it can do. Perhaps they saw it firsthand. Because of Augoth, swords like Goldfire exist, and swords like mine as well.

I snapped the booklet shut and tucked it in my pocket. Mother's greatest mistake was hiding her power away from Nirn. The death of the Red Moss tribe, the other Royal tribes the swore fealty to the Red Moss, the patterns of death throughout the hierarchy of Valenwood, the rise of corruption, the inactivity of my father…was it all for the search for the _Ghost Flame_? Augoth Thornbush, his brother, Torgoth, Monsotar and his Goldfire, and my Twilight's Talon are all pieces to the puzzle. There's only one common factor that puts it all together.

I stumbled forward, roving over the aspects of my life. What were the Silver Crescents if the end of the stick was Mother's power? Was Milkar just as guilty?

'Raven, are you feeling okay?' Larethia tugged at my arm. I snatched it back.

'I—yes.' I told her. My hands shook.

'Go get some water.' She shouted

A bucket of water was set before me, and I set my hands in it and brought it to my face. My reflection looked back at me. Was this the woman I thought I'd become? Was it whom I wanted to be?

'It doesn't get any easier, Raven.' Larethia sat beside me.

'Why do you care?'

Larethia scoffed. 'Because I was like you—I wanted to make a difference. Monsotar stole that from me. He stole it from me every night before you came.'

I met her eyes.

She nodded. 'The Leucrota was much like your Silver Crescents. But then everyone started to die. Grim and I are the last of the original Leucrota. The others were assigned by Monsotar. Stragglers of the Thieves of the Wood.' She ran her hand through the mud and tightened her fist around a clump. 'We're dirt in his regime. We fought for something honorable once.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, softly.

'Listen to the walls carefully, Leila.' The use of my real name startled me.

'I've given up. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I was running around, swinging my sword at anything that got in my way. Now, I'm lost.'

Larethia spat. 'I can see it in your eyes that the end of your path has remained the same. You just have to remind yourself why you're still living.'

'I don't know why.'

'You do,' she said. 'You do, but you're suppressing it.'

'I—' I choked back a sob.

Larethia stood and looked down at me. 'Say it out loud.'

'You know I can't do that. He could be—'

'No one is here, Leila. Until I saw you walk through that leaf-veil, I thought all was lost for me. For my friends that I lost on my journey. There was no hope. Then you arrived.'

I shook my head. A failure like me shouldn't give anyone false hope. 'What about me that you think will help this province? I like to kill? I like to rebel? I'm just a child with no real goal. You heard Florentine—I'm a delinquent that likes to play in blood.'

'I studied you from afar. The Black Raven of Shimmer Root—that is what the Thieves of the Wood would call you. Killing Arian only proved your legend, it didn't create it. You weren't just some child that gave Rindiel a problem. You were feared amongst us… and admired.' There was genuine admiration in Larethia. I saw it. 'You have what it will take. And I'm prepared to help you. So, stand. Stand and tell all of Nirn what it is you will achieve.'

I stood reluctantly. 'I don't know.'

'Say it.'

'I—I'll topple Monsotar…I'll destroy the Tam'Akar…and…' I felt that old vigor seeped into me. 'I'll change Valenwood to become…better.'

Larethia nodded. 'What is it that you want, Raven?'

'I want…' Hesitation. It felt wrong saying it without Milkar being alive. 'I want revolution.'


	28. Sticks, It's In My Nature

_The nightblades of old were a class of adventurers and opportunists with a gift of getting in and out of trouble. Relying variously on stealth, blades, and speed, they thrive on conflict and misfortune trusting to their luck and cunning to survive. Monsotar's Nightblades held some kindred traits of nightblades but earn a far cry of respect from the true rogues._

* * *

Chapter 28: Sticks, It's In My Nature

The smaller cities of Valenwood weren't particularly special. Some cities could spread across the expanse of a Graht-Oak tree or many in a grove. Sarencarr was built on four middle-aged Graht-Oak that still migrated. During the colder months, the trees stay to the south of Grahtwood, and in the dry season, it travels to the edge of Reaper's March.

The Leucrota lounged around at a corner district, a conjunction of six boughs of the tallest tree. Not many people were likely to come here, but the views were some of the best in Valenwood. The Evening sun, red in its omniety, left the skies bloodied and the tops of the trees, gold and crimson as if the forest were waves of fire. I felt at ease almost, believing that the struggle I carry will take me to my end goal. Larethia hung in a netted hammock, the breeze pushing and pulling her in a slight swing. Orc sat above nestling in a stalk of fonds. Reiran practiced blade work; Mondo with his conjuring; Grim lost to some winehouse, drinking away his sorrows.

Fentiin always seemed to be at work on arrows or a new bow. He worked materials day and night, mastering his scrimshaw. He didn't look much like a fighter, and I wondered why someone like him would come to the Leucrota. He could better be in a workshop, chipping away at bone and scale and earning Septims for his pieces.

Sul was terrifyingly closer than I initially concerned myself with. I never noticed her amble looks before, and that's entirely on behalf of her disappearing from thought. Black hair and pale skin made her resemble a Colovian heartlander. To keep her in mind took some mastery of willpower. I craned my head to the side, straining my brain and eyes to bring her insight. Even then it was hard to see her, to keep her at the forefront of my thought. 'Sul,' I said, even her name almost alluded me. 'Sul,' I repeated as if not saying it would wipe her from what I wanted to say. She shifted in her place and turned her eyes on me.

'Yes?' she replied and just like that, I forgot what I was doing.

I sat back in my cradle of nestling branches and slipped the journal from my pocket. It was enough to know that she was here and that she existed, so she'll always be around. But it worried me that only a moment passed before I forgot what her voice sounded like. A good read was better for my attention, and she wasn't worth the headache.

It seemed that Milkar was right about the Tam'Akar searching for Mother's power. Perhaps Milkar starting the Silver Crescents was a reaction to them coming close. But what did the Red Moss and the other Royal tribes had to do with the _Ghost Flame_? Augoth might've known, but if I were to come anywhere near Shimmer Root, Monsotar would know about it. 'Talk about a rock and a hard place,' I mumbled. I turned to a page in the journal that described the power of Daedric magicka or better known as a mysterious force that governs their plane of existence. The kind of unsavory power my Tutor told me not to worry myself about. There were a plethora of citations by the ancient order of the Psijic Monks warning us about the dangers of leaving the realm of laws set by the Firsts. The _Ghost Flame_ was something new, however, and there were no laws against its use. So, what was it? Why is everyone after it? These were some questions I wish I had before Milkar died.

In the moments of pondering, I felt the tug of leather, the jostle, and the smell of old Jagga. I spun around and reached for the hand that found itself in my pocket. I squeezed until bones cracked.

'Sticks! Sticks!'

'Dark Tooth.'

'Sticks!' He cried, but I squeezed harder until the pain brought him to his knees.

'Trying to rob me, ol' Toothy?' I asked.

'Sticks! It's in my nature!'

'Sticks?' I raised an eyebrow not letting up my grip.

'Let the idiot go,' Larethia said. 'Sticks. It's road-speak for an armistice. He can't help himself.'

I let go and looked at her for answers. 'And this is permissible?'

Larethia chuckled. 'What sort of gang was your brother running? You don't know road-speak?'

I shrugged.

Dark Tooth scurried away, and Larethia took his place. 'When caught in an ill-advised action, us rogues say "sticks" as a surrender. Because it's in our nature to take advantage of such opportunity.'

'Ah.' I called Dark Tooth back over. The oaf made his way towards me, holding his hand.

'What?'

'Thievery. It's in your nature, correct?' I asked him. His rotted tooth took as much willpower to ignore as acknowledging Sul's entire existence.

Dark Tooth nodded like an idiot.

'Okay…well, you remember Timlo—what I did to him? He touched me, Dark Tooth. He wanted to do way more than touch me too. I'm a girl of only fifteen springs, and he wanted to bed me whether I approved of such or not. I killed him, Dark Tooth… before he even got the chance. I killed him, and I will kill you too if you ever try that again. Do you know why?'

He shook his head.

'Because that, my friend, is _my_ nature.'

'You'll need all the bodies you have here to get through your next task.'

I turned to see Rindiel shaking his head with disproval. This was, after all, was my crew now, and I needed them to reach my goal. However faulty they might've been.

'Took you long enough,' I said. 'We've been waiting in this city for two days.'

'I stopped at the Ayleid ruins along the way,' he said. 'I also cleaned up your mess.'

'You could've told us there was going to be an agent chaperone there before we almost got crushed.'

'The Tam'Akar was there?'

I nodded. 'Technically, no. But, yes. Florentine nearly crushed us with her pebbles.'

'I hope you gained something from it.' Rindiel stretched his hand towards me, waiting.

I pressed the booklet in his hand, and he took it. I figured there was nothing worth learning in the journal anyway. The scholars wrote only about myths and conjectures, dead ends that won't take them anywhere near the _Ghost Flame_. Rindiel read through it then tucked it in his pouch.

'What's this new job?' I asked.

'Follow me.' He turned to the Leucrota. 'All of you—we're heading to Simile Grove.'

'A mud town? Why there?'

'You'll see Monsotar's intentions in full force.'

* * *

Simile Grove was centered on the borders of Grahtwood, Greenshade, and Malabal Tor. A pleasant place to live, and only a day's ride from the city of Elden Root. The grounded town of Longvale sits at the corner of the grove. A pocket village with some odd number of snugpods hidden by the veil of the forest. Land bridges overarched the town, giving it a shadowy presence like a colony of ants living in the cracks of a dried mud bed. These Bosmer lived stacked on each other as if there wasn't enough forest to expand their little pods elsewhere. The small villages that dot the forest inside and out aren't populated by Wild Bosmer although they're close to becoming them or furthering themselves into modernity. Either way, these people were the middle ground between the world of the Dominion and the tribes of the Greenpact.

We came by the first set of snugpods. The townspeople watched from the glow of their homes. They seemed as happy as any miserable little town would be. Children scurried every which way, feet slapping in the mud, narrowly pinched by the laying-in-wait mudcrab. The adults hawked around in groups or alone about their businesses and pastimes.

'I used to be a city boy,' Reiran Treefort said. 'Back in the Third Era, some of my clan broke off from the tribe to live a more modern life. Grew up in Woodhearth. Rich place.'

'If you were so rich, why are you here now, eh?' asked ol' dumb Dark Tooth.

'I never said _I_ was rich, you idiot. I said I lived in a rich place.' Reiran turned to the rest of us. 'Towns like this are still fairly new to me.'

'Coming to this place would get you killed,' I said. 'Not all Greenpact Bosmer are peaceful.'

'The Parikh are the worst of them.' Rindiel chimed.

Reiran shivered. 'You can say that again. Why must we pick a fight with them again?'

Rindiel glanced back. 'Some things are necessary.'

We came to a municipal obelisk nearer to the center of the town. Four surrounding trees grew a spiraling of thick roots twisting in on each other to form a pool. Two Nightblades sat by in wait, and by the look of it, they were Monsotar's Crows.

I knew them.

Hammocking on a swerved root was Disnel of the Misty Grove. A gangly old mer that was once trained to become a shaman from some forgotten tribe. He took what he learned and abandoned his Greenpact ways for Monsotar's cause. From the stories, his abilities mutated in such a way, he uses it to his advantage during heists. The ability to shape the forest to your whim was mighty indeed, a form of Alteration magic only found among the Bosmer Shamans and a closely guarded secret. That makes Disnel the target of many spontaneous assassination attempts. He never asks who sends them, people believe he enjoys the sport. The other's name lived on the tongues of the Woods as a legend. Sevyn Lichen-Ghost was the ruthless leader of a gang of Alteration mages. Along the west coast of Valenwood, over a hundred thousand Septims worth of goods went missing over the course of a year thanks to the Riders of the Ghost-Leaf. An event so devastation, the Countreeve employed the Mage's Guild to intervene. Sevyn can over expand the _invisibility_ and _fade_ spells without spending her magicka. I didn't know how well she fought, but what did that matter if you couldn't touch or see her?

'Rindiel,' Sevyn said, her voice as striking as a mountain wind. 'You're late.'

'Must you always nag, woman? I do believe we're the ones that are early,' said Disnel. He skinned his teeth revealing a black hole in his rows of yellow-stained teeth. 'This is the Leucrota, they don't travel lightly.'

'The Leucrota? I don't remember them being so…short staffed.'

'We've had some losses,' Larethia explained. 'We are at the forefront of Monsotar's war.'

'I see…And it isn't because _you_ aren't leading them is it?'

'I am not the leader of the Leucrota, Sevyn. Not anymore.'

Sevyn placed her hands on her hips. 'Well, who is then?'

'I am,' I spoke up finally. 'Monsotar put me in charge of the Leucrota.'

Sevyn had the darkest of green eyes and at no point could you tell the separation of iris and pupil. The blunt faced Crow approached me with the smirk of a snake. I watched her closely and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword. It was good to trust someone like Sevyn to try and test you. With a soul like hers, it was best to keep on your toes.

'You must be that raven girl I've heard so much about.' She stopped just before me. 'You stay in the Iron Wing of Centaurcrass…that's where Monsotar stays.'

I nodded. 'And?'

Sevyn stepped back and chuckled. 'I was there when Monsotar killed your brother. He went down pathetically. I suppose most people are merely all talk. Is it going to be the same for you?'

I wanted nothing but to take her head where she stood, but instead, I did nothing.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I suppose I can get a little jealous when Monsotar chooses little whores to keep his bed warm instead of a real woman. It might be because you call yourself a feckless little disease-ridden bird that he considered the taste of you—.'

My fist found her cheek then lost it. I watched as my hands slip through her face and out the other side. Before I could react, I found myself on the ground. Sevyn chuckled and took another step away from me.

'Feisty. I can see what he likes in you. The more you fight him off, the more he takes it. He gets hungrier when he needs to hunt, doesn't he? That's his nature. Do you even fight him, little Raven? Do you put up a fight? Or do you like it when he takes it?'

I gritted my teeth and slipped a knife through my sleeves and into my hand. I hit the beat and pounced. Sevyn wore a tight smile on her lips and watched as I dragged my knife across her neck. She unleashed a _zephyr_ spell and stripped the blade from my grip. Her translucent form stood over me laughing.

I cut it short.

With a throwing knife, I made her activate her _fade_ spell once more. The blade flew through her skull. She retaliated with a thrown punch of her own and connected with my jaw. I felt her knuckles crack under the force of her blow. At the same moment, I grabbed on to her collar and pulled it downward with my body. Her spell activated yet again allowing my hands and her fist to slip through our bodies.

I stood as she crashed to the ground, her _fade_ spell coming to an abrupt stop. All spells and their casters had a weakness. That was the basic understanding one needed to know when battling a magic wielder. No matter the array of the mage, even a single, sword-wielding berserk can defeat him, provided he had the brain.

'That's enough,' Rindiel said, laying his ranseur between us. 'We have many things to attend to.'

Disnel coughed and took center stage. 'Rightly so, Rindiel. Let me explain what we will accomplish in today's job.' The root surged forward, snaking down to the ground and depositing the Bosmer before us. 'Can you two manage your little spat over who Monsotar decides to bed somewhere else?'

I spat and nodded.

Sevyn raised from the ground as graceful as she fell. Her eyes bounced around like she wanted a place to hide. Everyone saw, there was no hiding from any of it.

Disnel watched us, feigning disinterest, but the smirk and glint in his eyes told me he was well entertained.

The shamans of the Greenpact are known for shaping the forest to their whim. Disnel perverted that power and bent wood and flora to a weapon. That would make him a floramancer, or would it be an agromancer? Disnel was old but surer of himself than any Bosmer in their prime. Perhaps pomposity comes with age as shown with Father. Despite the danger, I kept my eyes on Sevyn as she dusted herself.

'The plan is simple.' Disnel folded his arms. 'We'll raid the Parikh and learned what they know about the _Ghost Flame_.'

I glanced Rindiel. He still had the booklet we found at the excavation site. The Parikh are one of the tribes described to have coveted the secret of Mother's power. It seemed Monsotar wanted answers about where Mother hid her power. I wasn't going to allow him or the Tam'Akar to find it.

The Leucrota spouted their grumbles to the idea of fighting a notorious tribe like the Parikh. They were once the most aggressive Greenpact Bosmer in all Valenwood, taking over many territories in earlier eras. They may have quieted down, but their reputation for fighting was still known to the denizens of Valenwood.

'Calm down, you lot,' Disnel snorted and chucked his chin towards me. 'We're here to speak with the Seedthane of Longvale about the Parikh. Some say they have direct contact with the tribe.'

'And if they refuse?' I asked.

Disnel laid his aged eyes on me. They poked through wrinkled lids, darkness sat behind them, unlike mine. This was true indifference for the life of his fellow Bosmer. 'Well, they burn, of course.'

'Monsotar didn't order any deaths of these people,' Larethia protested.

Disnel bushy brow arched. 'But he did order us to get the job under any means. If that constitutes spilling a bit of blood, or in this case, cooking, then so be it. There shouldn't be any arguments.' He turned from us and watched Rindiel. 'Is that clear?'

Rindiel met Disnel's eyes. 'We won't lay a finger on anyone unless we truly have to.'

'I don't see what's the big deal, Rin.' Sevyn chuckled. 'You gave Monsotar permission to sell your own tribe to the Tam'Akar. Yet you care more for these people.'

'Unlike the Red Moss, the Parikh and the people of Longvale are unflawed examples of mutual respect between the old and new ways. My tribe was eaten alive by their own strengths until it became their weakness. I gave them mercy. And I won't see another Royal tribe die if there is no need.'

The thought of Elren's clan dying for such a corrupted cause tugged at my heartstrings. I wanted to take on the pain the plagued Elren for so long that I began to neglect the fact that I could have cured him. But now, my love for Elren will never be realized because of my own selfish desires.

'Fine. Fine.' Disnel surrendered his hands in the air. 'You are Monsotar's right hand after all. It's your call.' He grinned. 'But let's make something clear here, Rindiel of the Red Moss, if you so much as show the slightest inkling of failure. I'll kill them all, then I'll kill you and lay your head at Monsotar's feet at the end of it. Do we have a deal?'

Rindiel ignored Disnel and turned to me. 'You'll be speaking with the Seedthane. Have an answer from them within the hour.'

'Me?' I asked.

'Are you not the new leader of the Leucrota?' Rindiel locked his eyes with mine. 'Do you want to see more blood?'

My jaw tightened, and I turned to the Leucrota. They all shared that same semblance of expectation. My time in the Silver Crescents has always been about garnering answers through my force. With my sword, we managed to come up. But that wasn't the way, and in the end, it got us killed.

'I'll do it,' I told him. Larethia and Grim let loose a breath of relief. 'Under one condition.'

'We don't extract answers by force?' Disnel interrupted.

'No. Rindiel, you will tell me what happened that night in detail.'

Sevyn laughed an ugly shrill sounding cackle that sounded as if a nest of hagravens were telling a good joke. 'You suppose that Rindiel would take you up on that? You're fuller of air than your epithet.'

'I can speak with them and gain answers. Or I can burn this entire town with the flick of my wrist, and no one will hear the answers they want.' I turned to Sevyn. She growled.

'Remember Raven, it's not good to bluff. Someone may call you out on it.'

'Be my guest to do so.'

Sevyn pierced her lips to a tight line and broke eye contact.

'Fine.' Rindiel opened his hand. 'Manage to learn what they know, and I will tell you everything that happened that night… through my eyes.'

I left the Leucrota and the Crows and made my way through Longvale. Most of this town was made of Snugpods and dirt. But the people seemed happy. A simple life can sometimes be the only thing a Mer might need. We are long-lived compared to the humans and yet we've less war and less trauma in our day to day than the descendants of Atmora and Yokuda. Or perhaps, it's because many Mer feel it isn't their duty to stand against strife and tyranny like the humans do. That can't always be the case. The Thalmor felt the need to start the third Aldmer Dominion to mark their fight against the Empire. They've even roused the Khajiit, the Bosmer's enemies, to the cause.

I wondered if there were any peaceful towns such as this in the countries of Men. Did they stare from the glow of their homes at warriors strolling through their towns as I am? Did they wonder how much blood soaked their hands? Did the shadows threaten to overtake them?

The Seedthane's hall wasn't much to look at, but still more significant than any dwelling in the township. It sat at the edge of the town, a weeping willow bent by time and masked by the shadow of its coiled branches. The elongated curls were reminiscent of long, wet hair weighed down by water. A path of moss-covered stone led me straight underneath its shadow towards the base of the tree towards a netted leaf-veil flanked by two town guards. My approach made them nervous.

'Who goes there?' the right-rank guard asked. 'And what business do you have here.'

'A simple request to speak with your Seedthane,' I told them.

'The Seedthane does not allow random travelers to speak with him,' the left guard added. 'You must have an arrangement that must be approved by the stewardess.'

'It wouldn't be wise to turn away a Crow of the Thieves of the Wood now, would it?

Their throats bobbed as they glanced each other nervously.

'A Crow, you say?'

I nodded.

'Please wait here.' The right-flank guard disappeared behind the leaf-veil.

He returned at the side of a petite woman, measuredly tanned and as short as Ceril had been. Her eyes were almost as emerald as mine. 'It's a pleasure to meet you,' she said. I knew that to be a lie. There was nothing pleasurable about me. I looked like I crawled from the planes of Oblivion.

'And you as well.'

'Right this way.' And she beckoned me to follow.

We entered a sculpted antechamber too tight for two to stand side-by-side. Instead, I followed at her back. It deposited us into a room no larger than the snugpods outside and smelled of boiled chitin. A Bosmer sat behind the root-bench that reached to the bottom of his chest, wearing the headdress of a Chital. On one side of his bench, the skull of a troll sat with two smaller heads, probably monkeys, embedded in its eye sockets. On the other side, a thunderbug encased in glass streamed an endless but miniscule amount of lightning from its abdomen.

Beside him, another chair sat a Bosmer of some obvious priesthood. Unlike the streamlined appearance of other Greenpact shaman, this one had grit to him and wore soft leather plates over his robes.

The stewardess stepped to the side. 'Seedthane Glerrion,' she said. 'A representative of the Thieves of the Wood.'

'I see…' the Seedthane sat up in his chair. 'Monsotar sends yet another one of his… agents.'

'And one so young,' the priest added with a breath of disbelief. The shaman leaned forward to peer at me clearer and shook his drooped locks. He wore a crown of mora vine. 'Your eyes… You are far too young to have such deep-seated anger, girl.'

'I assume Monsotar still seeks an audience with Parikh.' Glerrion steepled his fingers. 'Of which he believes I have the power to give.'

'You don't?' I asked finally.

'The Parikh are very secretive of their whereabouts. What was once a nomadic warrior tribe, now have been forced to settle and hide. On the contrary to what your leader wants to believe, that is the safest path for them. They do not need his protection.'

I grinned. 'Then that is acceptable.'

The Seedthane raised a brow. 'Why are you here?'

'I will only let you know the truth,' I said. 'Monsotar seeks the secret to the _Ghost Flame_. There are no other ventures for my purpose here, Seedthane. The Parikh are one of the Royal tribes that help hide that power.'

'The Parikh took a vow to never reveal the secrets they possess of that power. It was a seal written in the rite of blood.' The shaman thumped his finger on his side of the bench. 'All memory of the secret has been detached from the minds of the tribe. You won't receive the answers here.'

'Give me admittance to the Parikh, and I could figure that out myself.' They watched me with ireful eyes. 'Believe me. I am the last soul that wants Monsotar obtaining the _Ghost Flame_. But I have no choice.'

'No choice…' Glerrion repeated. 'Then, that's how it must be?'

I nodded.

'You poor child.'

'You said it yourself, shaman. No child should have this anger dwelling just behind these eyes. I am angry. I am hurting. You priests can see through everything, so you must see what will happen if you do not grant me attendance to the Parikh. Either way, we _will_ find them.' I slipped my hand to the hilt of Twilight's Talon. 'It's a simple matter of whether you want me to do it the easy way or the hard way.'

'There are never any easy ways, girl.' Glerrion said.

I turned to make my way back through the antechamber but stopped. Something in me told me not to walk through that leaf-veil without trying once more. I approached their bench once more.

If anger and hatred and hurting lay papyrus thin under my skin, then worry did under theirs. 'Tell me why,' I said and watched them both. 'Tell me why you won't allow me to protect you?'

'The Thalmor offer protection. Monsotar offers protection. Even the Ranger Guard offered it.' The shaman stood. 'None of you offer peace.'

'So…' I withdrew the dagger Elren gifted me from what seems so long ago, 'I offer you my blood.' I dragged the blade of the dagger across the back of my hand and let the blood drip from the sides. They watched me incredulously. 'I am the daughter of Ara High-Arrow,' I told them to pique their interest further. 'The Parikh, the Red Moss, the Raw Tooth, and the Clavente gathered together to give my mother the power of _Ghost Flame_ , and in the end, they sealed that knowledge away. It's the most sought-after power in Tamriel, and who is in line to part for that knowledge?' They said nothing. 'The Red Moss tribe was utterly destroyed, leaving only a few to live and disappear for good. The Raw Tooth has lost their standing as a Royal tribe, and what about you? The Parikh were once feared, but now they hide in the very forests they once ruled. You once acted to protect Valenwood by summoning this power for Augoth and my mother. Now that simple act has come back to bite you.' I put my hands together. My sight blurred and burned. 'Please take my offer, and I promise there will be peace. But if you don't, your people will suffer. All of them. And we will still find the Parikh, even if they must be smoked out.'

Glerrion shook his head and sighed. 'We will never accept that. Look into yourself! You bring a bad omen to these lands, and to these people. We won't allow you to bring it to the Parikh.'

'Your soul is chaos,' the shaman said. 'Whereas your mother held a tranquil spirit, yours is a raging fire steeped in the blackness of shadow that not even light cannot escape. You need to bleed that rage from yourself. Bleed it free and allow harmony to seep into your soul.'

'How should I do that?'

'Let go of what you believe this life is. You should not force yourself on this path of yours.'

'So, you know my life? Then you know of the promises that I _must_ keep.'

'If that is your path, then you are lost.'

I paused for a moment before turning. I felt the sorrow in their words. 'I know.'

I exited their tree. Flanked at the leaf-veil by the two guards that saw to my appearance in front of the Seedthane, I stopped. Tears made a slow descent down my cheek, and the void that has been widening in my stomach only grew. 'The only course to live by is my nature.'

'What—' A guard turned to me.

I drew Twilight's Talon quickly smacked the flat end of the blade across his head. It was easy. It was far too easy. These townspeople had families, friends, dreams, and aspired.

The other brandished a polearm. 'No! Dirinnir!

His weapon was no match for Twilight Talon's enchantment. He stepped into my word and got his polearm turned to ash. A single slash of magicka put him down.

Out came the Leucrota and Rindiel, hidden amongst the coils of willow branch. No one said a word. I kept walking, unable to meet their gaze. 'Finish the job,' I told them.

Sevyn and Disnel stood at the back, their eyes filled with both amusement and interest.

* * *

After the fire runes were set, it was only a matter of time before they were set off. We didn't even make haste. We walked the town of Longvale slowly. One foot after each other, taking in the elements of it all. Children played, men and women went about their business. Some with children, others steeped in their labor, or not egulfed in work at all. This was life without worry. The kind of life I was missing out.

I couldn't direct my anger toward anyone. I hated Monsotar, I hated him to the depths of the Void and back, but I would have never known he existed had I never joined Milkar's cause. I would have been in the Ranger Guard, climbing rank after rank until I was the Watchmaster. Perhaps I would have been the strongest and most talented Watchmaster to ever have lived. I would have solidified my place among the Elder Guard and made Mother and Father proud of whom their daughter turned out to be. But I can't claim it was anyone's fault but my own, can I?

The shaman told me to bleed myself of this anger, but I can't.

I don't know how.

The fires surged through the town when we reached the edge of it. The flames almost engulfed us, but we pulled up into the trees. I thought about embracing the heat and letting it take me. I allowed the vine lift me into the canopy, flying high, and landed on a long-swaying bough overlooking Longvale. Night began to fall, and the forest around the town was soaked in shadows with only the fires living in the streets to illuminate the darkness.

People screamed and fled. The fire had no real danger, it was merely a scare tactic. No more children's laughter, no more mer at work. Just the heat.

'Why the long face, Raven. Isn't serving Monsotar one of the most glorious aspects of being in the Thieves of the Woods? This is what I live for!'

I turned to the side to reveal Sevyn crouched over the ledge. The reflection of the fires sparkled in her eyes. 'Monsotar told me I was a death monger.'

'Well.' She shrugged without looking at me.

I found myself behind the woman as she gazed into the flames. Her back to me, it was the perfect opportunity. I lifted my foot and placed it on her back and pushed. As expected, I faded through her as she activated her _fade_ spell. I didn't allow that to stop me. I pressed my attack, keeping her body ethereal, so she didn't have the chance to counter.

'Oh, dear girl. It seems you've finally lost your mind,' Sevyn said.

My hands slipped through her over and repeatedly. I knew if I kept at it, there was no way I would be able to grasp her. It didn't need to. I stopped attacking, letting Sevyn come at me with the fullness of her anger. It was the perfect set up. As she stepped into her attack, her punch bit into my cheek with a sting of pain. I stumbled backward but she slipped into the vine I'd laid without her noticing. The spring noose tightened around her ankle and sprung her over the flames, dangling her with the threat of burning.

I took several steps back with an air of triumph about me. Even a Crow can be fooled by a superior mind. Sevyn's arrogance stapled a severe flaw in Monsotar's circle and in Monsotar himself. I killed Arian because he thought he knew the sort of soul I was. I am Ara High-Arrow's daughter after all. But it was that trust that killed him. I am nothing like her.

'You fucking bitch.' Sevyn's eyes burned. 'You know what I can do. You think this trap can keep me?'

'You're going to die here, Sevyn Lichen-Ghost.' I shrugged. 'That is what I know.'

Sevyn let out a shrill laugh. 'Come on, Raven. Let me down, and I promise they'll be no harm done.'

'Don't promise if you don't intend to keep them. I learned that the hard way.' I slipped two throwing knives from my bandolier. 'But it's as you said, you can slip from those bonds easily with your _fade_ spell, can't you?'

Sevyn looked down at the swirling mass of fire. She knew this was the end.

'I noticed that you have to dispel _fade_ to attack, and nothing can hold you if you activate it now. Let's look at the vine wrapped around your foot right now. You can simply faze right through it and land somewhere down there. Only you can't land down there because it's on fire. But of course, you can walk through fire with _fade,_ but you can't land with it on. Not only that, if you do deactivate to land, you burn to a crisp.'

'You worked that out in one fight?' She asked.

I nodded. 'I'm a bit of a genius, they say.'

'So, you're going to make me hang here until the fires are over?'

'No. Are you hard of hearing? I just said you're going to die here.'

'Raven…'

'Yes?'

'You can't do this. Listen… I'm sorry. I just… I get so jealous of Monsotar always finding new and prettier girls, I—'

'Save it.' I told her. 'Monsotar stole everything from me. I'm going to do the same to him. And when he has nothing left, I'll take his head.'

'Please…'

'Sevyn, you have a choice.' I whipped my wrist and launched a throwing knife into her shoulder. She cried and coughed as the smoke slipped into her mouth. 'You can die by my blades, or you can avoid my blade with your spell. It's all your choice.'

'I'm going to kill you! I swear to it, disgraceful whore! I'll skin you alive, you little bitch. Let me go now! Let me go!'

'This next knife is going for the center of your forehead.'

I let it fly. The knife slipped through her head and out the other side. The vine that dangled her above the fires slid through the flesh of her foot and sent her plummeting to the ground. She disappeared under the fire, her shrill screams pierced my ears, but luckily, they were cut short by the roar of the flames.

A rustle startled behind me and I spun around with two new knives in hand.

Larethia spilled from the shadows, her eyes set on me. I smiled and sheathed my blades.

'You killed her,' she said. 'You killed Sevyn Lichen-Ghost.'

I raised my hands in surrender. 'Sticks, it's in my nature.'


	29. Peace and Violence

_I grew up fast. I had to. There is no innocence lost when there is no innocence gained_

* * *

Chapter 29: Peace and Violence

'We can trust you.' Larethia, Grim, Orc, and I stood apart from the others in the aftermath of the fire. There was a wind in her eyes. 'The three of us hate Monsotar as much as you do.'

'Why just the three of you?' I asked. I knew Larethia hadn't been the person I thought she would be. There were far too many in the Thieves of the Wood for everyone to be a loyalist, but it seems I've stumbled on a rare gem. 'The rest of the Leucrota…'

'Aren't Leucrota at all,' Grim interjected with a grunt.

Larethia nodded with agreement. 'He's right. We're what's left of the original band.'

'Now, let me guess, they've realized their mistakes and turned tail on you.' I watched Larethia's face turn from buoyant to dour in a matter of moments.

'No,' she said. 'No… We…We all turned to Monsotar together. We came to this, thinking we were going to make a change. We weren't well-informed. The people looked to the Thieves of the Wood for help, and we just thought if only we could be apart of something like that… We were wrong.'

'So wrong, in fact, the first few of us died trying to kill Monsotar.' Grim scowled. 'He sent others in to take their place as if they were mere numbers. We couldn't just leave either. Monsotar would hunt us down and kill us. So, we had no choice but to work for him. After that… everything worsened. Our friends…' Grim squeezed his fists and tensed his muscles. 'Job after job, they died one by one, only to be replaced by those buffoons.'

'You see, Leila? In a matter of months, you've managed to kill Arian and Sevyn. Those are two of Monsotar's Crows, they're among his closest and strongest nightblades.' Larethia pointed out Rindiel, who was on the other side of the town, accessing the damage. 'There's Rindiel, Monsotar's direct right-hand mer. There's Disnel, and then, you.'

It was my heart's desire to assure the death of everyone close to Monsotar before I could take Monsotar's life myself, but something like that would likely unfold over the long course of my time in his company. I didn't want to soak my hands in blood until there was none left to help us fix Valenwood. Working with Monsotar was like a divine punishment from the gods, but it worked as a double-edged sword.

If what Larethia hold is true, then that there are more like-minded souls occupying membership in the Thieves of the Wood. How many would it take to sabotage something so ingrained in the fabric of Valenwood? The Thieves of the Wood was a beast unlike any other. It was a Thieves Guild that operated on the corruption of politicians, desperate clients, businesses, shipping, trading, government, and defense. Monsotar has made it perfectly clear that he was running such an organization so secretly woven into Valenwood's underground world, there was no undoing it. But even the tightest fabric can come undone when the right threads are pulled.

'Who else can we trust?'

'There's an entire gathering within the ranks. Monsotar recruits his enemies and competition and forces them to serve him. Some of them turn fully, some work only out of fear and continue until the right moment, the right movement, or until they can have a clear path to freedom.' Larethia explained it clearly.

There were hundreds of Bosmer classified as members of the Thieves of the Wood. Hundreds that could be thousands. They've fought contingents of the Dominion and have won. Their endless supply of associates, acquaintances, and loyalist didn't help either. It put me in the wonder of how did Milkar ever think a little-ragged group of wannabe criminals could take down such a wall of impossible. But then I remembered what he told me: To ensure an enemy's defeat, I must first undermine his allies.

Sure, Monsotar and his Thieves of the Wood were powerful, but they weren't anything if they didn't have a coin flow. Stop that, and you stop the Thieves of the Wood. But, how would one turn a league of politicians and businesses against an important need such as a reliable guild to stop competition? That's where the corruption took place.

'We need more than that,' I told them. 'We need the Law on our side.'

'I knew you would aid us!'

'I've always been with you, Larethia. We just didn't know it.'

'You've earned my respect, that's for sure,' grumbled Grim.

'So, tell us, what do you mean?' Larethia inquired. 'We need the Law?'

'Monsotar not only has an endless number of criminals at his back, despite one or two to the hundredth mer being a rebel, but we must also count on most to be too afraid to make a move with us.' They all nodded in agreement. Fear is a powerful motivator, but it can have such vice on you until there's nothing left but to let it crush you. 'We have to count on his endless resources in the hierarchy of Falinesti.'

It was under my impression that none of them had any dealings with anyone outside of the Thieves of the Wood. Probably for fear of being implicated by Monsotar as traitors and subsequently killed. But they were on a start that I thought would take me far longer to begin. My anger guided me to kill Arian, and a shrewd calculation to kill the rest of Monsotar's Crows. But I knew that it implicated me as well. That's why I had to do it slowly and cover my steps. Sevyn just made sense to go first. Her fiery attitude and sloppy form would have made her a prime candidate to die accidentally on this job. Even a Crow has misfortune. Disnel would be next, but I didn't plan on killing him anytime soon. He was far sharper than Sevyn, and all it took was a little scuffle with her to learn her mastery of the _fade_ spell. Everyone has their weakness, though. For these Crows, their strengths turned against them was all I could think of to kill them.

Elren and I have left Rindiel bleeding on the ground before. However, I didn't understand the ease of his defeat. Since clashing with the Crow, again and again, I've realized that he's only toyed with us. His original personality has made a complete turn around too. That cold look to his eyes whenever the worst happens—whenever he needed to shut his emotions off. But then there are moments where, in some other alternate realm, I could have liked him as a friend. He had secrets that I wanted to uncover. For Elren's sake. For his memory. Rindiel wasn't as he seems. But in any consolation, he had to wait.

'I know some that aren't in Monsotar's pockets. Some of the Elder Guard and my… my father.'

'Your father?'

'Ambassador Faeden Lockharte.'

'Your father hasn't moved against the Thieves of the Wood before. What makes you think he will now?' A fair question from Grim.

'I'll talk to him,' I said. 'I'll try reason. There's my cousin in the Elder Guard as well. He made it known that he wanted to move against Monsotar. Especially after Arian.'

Larethia let out a long, wistful sigh. 'I'm not that into politicking, Raven. If you have a plan, execute it. Hopefully, it would do us some good.'

I nodded. 'I'll try.'

Crestel High-Arrow was rank one of the Elder Guard. Our last encounter didn't go too well, but I wondered if he still thought he can take Monsotar down. He was my only indication that someone out there wanted to. Perhaps he might be the only one. Not even the Ranger Guard has made moves against the Thieves of the Wood, and that's a clear reminder of the inability my father had to confront the true issues of Valenwood. That mer simply wants to play ponyboy between the Thalmor and his swain confident, the Silvenar.

Rindiel and Disnel emerged from the charred grounds of Longvale. It'd only been an hour after the last fires went out leaving the land brimstone. The town was already starting to cool and whiten to ash. Their faces didn't look like they carried very good news. Anyone that could hold a good mood after carrying on one of Monsotar's extreme negotiation tactics would count themselves psychotic.

'Sevyn is dead,' Rindiel said, approaching us with the remainder of the Leucrota.

Disnel didn't look too pleased. 'I always knew her powers made her just a bit overconfident, but I didn't think something like this would kill her. Not Sevyn.'

'Sevyn was an idiot, and it was her idiocy that got her killed.'

'It seems, Rindiel, we're a dying breed.' Disnel spat. 'What's Monsotar going to do if we all die?'

'I don't plan on dying anytime soon, Disnel. I'll serve Monsotar, and when he's dead, I'll see to the Thieves of the Wood.'

Disnel laughed. 'Don't kid yourself, Rindiel. If Monsotar died, and that's if he could even die, this entire guild will die soon after. Like a gods-damned Jungle Fowl with its head cut off. I don't see any potential in this entire forsaken gang to replace us Crows anyway.'

'That's unfortunate about Sevyn,' I said. 'But can we focus on the job at hand? Did the Seedthane emerge from his Willow yet?'

Disnel spun on me with a raised eyebrow. 'Perhaps I spoke too soon. One of your comrades just died, girl, but I appreciate the work ethic. That is what makes a good Crow.'

I gathered the Leucrota with a single hand gesture and rallied behind Rindiel. 'We are ready when you are.'

Rindiel considered me for a long moment. 'A good Crow, eh?' He bent over and grabbed a handful of ash and rubbed it in his palm. 'You failed to talk to them. Do you still expect the full truth?'

I looked away from his eyes. 'I expect the truth to reveal itself sooner or later. But for right now, I want to focus on finding the Parikh and extracting the information they have about Ara High-Arrow and the _Ghost Flame_.'

'What if the answers you're looking for twists your outlook?'

'Then I won't look.' I started back into town, Larethia, Grim, and Orc on my flanks while the others trailed behind. 'My only job is to burn.'

We found Glerrion stumbling out of his Willow pod. The fires still held to the tree, burning asunder. His Kenarthian clothes singed on the ends. The Seedthane's coughs were louder than the roar of the fire.

I approached him as he collapsed to the ground as if he and his lungs held the same plan.

'I might be a poor girl, Glerrion. I might be many things. But someone to fuck with, I am not.' I turned him over on his back. 'You said there are never any easy ways. I disagree. There's always an easier way—a better way. It's just too bad I'm only good at the hard ones.'

'Leave him be, Leila Lockharte.'

I glanced up to see the shaman from before exiting the Willow pod. He was unharmed.

'I never got your name shaman.'

'Valos,' he said.

'Shaman Valos. The Parikh will go unharmed if they tell us what they know. You must trust me.'

He shook his head vigorously. 'I trust you. And that's the most damning thing.' Valos stood straight and broad-shouldered, unlike any shaman or priest I've seen before.

'Tell me where your tribe is.'

Valos finally pulled his sleeve up and revealed the tattooed lines of the Parikh. It was obvious before as it was now. The Parikh was a Royal tribe consisting of warriors bred for the fight. They were once large and powerful enough to subjugate a large portion of Southeast Valenwood. It only made sense they would keep their traditions even now. Even among their shamans who don armor and wield weapons.

'I will. But you will have to kill me in combat.'

'I'd rather not,' I told him.

'If I betray my own tribe, I will not want to live any longer. So, I've decided to make you work for it.' Valos withdrew a short sword he had strapped to his back. 'You've caused the deaths of so many, what's one more?'

I looked around the town and saw the place for what it was. I saw the death I caused, racked against my long list of sins. I've committed an atrocity. It was the first of many. My heart was numb to it now.

I checked a sob climbing to my throat. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

'Raven, I can step in for you. You don't need to—'

'No,' I interrupted Larethia. 'I'll do this.'

'Raven…' Larethia blocked me and spoke with her voice low. 'Don't make the same mistakes as before. Do not think you can shoulder all of this on your own.'

'I know, Larethia. Thank you. But this is different.' I pushed her aside. 'This is not a murder but honoring a code.'

Disnel scoffed loudly. 'For the love of Mara, we ain't kill more than three people, and that's including one of our own. Sure, almost all are severely burned, but they're alive. Let's get a move on.'

'Shut up Disnel,' Rindiel said.

Valos moved in with an unnatural swiftness for someone of his age. When you picture the shamans of the Greenpact, you don't see Bosmer like Valos. You see calm, wisdom, and feeble. Never a warrior's intent. There are few warrior clans scattered around Valenwood, but the Parikh is the most fearsome.

I slipped from his path and worked my way onto his flank, pulling Twilight Talon in for the strike. He quickly slapped my sword away with his own blade and countered with his free hand. I stumbled back away from his fist, pivoting my foot in the ashen mud and swung Twilight Talon upward. Our swords clash with an array of sparks.

I could've ended it quickly. Twilight Talon pulsed, crying for me to use its enchantment. I didn't allow it to get the better of me. I would fight him on equal terms.

Valos came strong, sending strike after strike, parry after parry. I stopped the onslaught and pushed him back. Valos flourished his attack far too much. Perhaps his old age took away his subtlety, but I saw everything clearly. Finally, amidst the opening of his attack, I dragged my sword across his chest, cutting into the hardened fabric of his tight robes. Blood spilled, and he fell to his hands and knees.

'Do you yield?' I asked him.

Valos raised his head and locked eyes with mine.

'Do you yield?'

'No!' Valos pounced with new vigor.

I took the surprise head-on, parrying his attack down my right flank. He stumbled but spun on his foot, sword arm outstretched. I blocked the attack fully and knocked him onto his back.

'Do you yield now?' I asked again with Twilight Talon at his neck.

Blood streamed from the shaman's nose and mouth. A red line traveled across his chest. The white ash gave the red of his blood a striking contrast.

'Will you ever learn?' He asked. 'Will you ever see the error of your path?'

I shook my head slowly. 'Once I learn what the Parikh know, there will be no one to threaten your existence. When the _Ghost Flame_ is in our hands, not even the Tam'Akar will dare touch your tribe.'

'There is no secret, Leila Lockharte. We are warriors with a code of honor. Just as there are hunter tribes, crafting tribes, birthing tribes, and knowledge tribes.'

There was one uniting factor that everyone wanted to know: Where is the _Ghost Flame_?

'I never thought I'd see those malevolent emerald eyes again.'

'What?'

'Your mother…your mother. She came to the Royal Tribes and transcribed written lore of the Ayleids—'

'Leila, just finish him,' Rindiel said with some urgency.

I raised a finger to silence him. 'Continue, Valos.'

'She wanted us to find that power. It was hard, but we were… capable.' Valos shook head. 'It required reaching into Oblivion and sacrificing so many souls.'

This was it, this was the secrets I wanted to hear. I crouched to Valos' side and raised his head. He was already at the edge of death, but I wasn't going to allow him to die here, not now. Not until I received the answers I needed. I uncorked a vial of potion and poured it down his throat. He jerked a bit, but it helped some.

'The Raw Tooth provided their _soul link_ , the mystics of the Clavente opened the gate to Oblivion, and we provided protection against the Daedra that slipped through…and…'

His condition began to slip further south. He was dying, and no amount of healing potion will save him. I gritted my teeth.

'…the Red Moss… we…'

'Speak, priest.'

'We… forgot…but I remembered. Some of us remember.' Valos weakened in my arms. 'The Red Moss knew…their knowledge. _Sreknab Terces_.'

Those last words hit me like a brick wall. Sreknab Terces. Collectors of knowledge. The Red Moss were known for their special ability to extract the knowledge of others and remember them until it is time to give it back. They knew the secret to the _Ghost Flame_.

I stood. It was just as the booklet said: Mother gathered the four Royal tribes—Red Moss, Raw tooth, Parikh, and Clavente—to give Augoth and her the _Ghost Flame_. They must have stored the knowledge of such power with the Red Moss. The Tam'Akar knew. Monsotar knew. My brother knew.

'You knew,' I said, turning to Rindiel. 'This is what you were hiding.'

'Now you know.' Rindiel narrows his eyes.

'There's still more for me to tell—'

'I—I'm sorry to interrupt.' Falcon stumbled forward toward Rindiel and me. 'I ain't feeling so good…' Falcon collapsed to the ground, an arrow jutting from the back of his neck.

'What the fuck?' I searched for the archer that fired the arrow.

'Get cover!' Larethia shouted.

Grim slipped past us and dropped to Falcon's convulsing body. The arrow wound spewed a messy green rot. He twisted Falcon's neck to save him from the pain of the poison.

We scrambled towards the still-standing snugpods for refuge against any more arrows. From our left flank, a Bosmer dressed in Orsinium bone plate darted into out fleeing party, dagger in hand. He was too fast to for any of us to react. Fentiin went down with a scream as the tendons in his leg were cut wide open. I spun on the tribesmen, activating Twilight Talon's first rune and blasting him with magicka. His body sizzled and broke down to dust a few steps after my strike.

It was too late to save Fentiin when the arrows began falling from the sky. We reached the inside of the snugpod and watched them riddle Fentiin and the burned ground.

'Larethia, set up a wind barrier outside!' I called.

'On it.'

Larethia weaved a spell in her hands. Howling winds whipped and whirred, sending a cloud of ash rushing. Her windstorm kept up enough for us to cover a perimeter. Some arrows still found their way through the maelstrom of her air magic. Even having their trajectory thwarted, they came close.

'That could've gone better,' Reiran said. 'We lost two.'

'It's the Parikh.' Disnel kneeled and placed his hands to the ground. 'You won't find better fighters amongst the true followers of the Greenpact.'

'How are we supposed to get out of this?' The remaining Leucrota wanted to know.

'There's only one way to escape them.' Rindiel withdrew his sword. 'Fight them.'

'We'll die,' Larethia said.

'My—'

'The solution will not come in more deaths, Leila,' Rindiel snapped. A cool demeanor possessing him. 'Stay that blade. Find a better way.'

I nodded hesitantly. 'I will…' I took a stance in the entrance, arrows skirted me, thwarted by Larethia's powerful winds. 'Larethia, dispel your magic.'

The winds died. I withdrew Twilight Talon and plunged the tip into the ground. Its enchantment spewed forth, the second rune lit an ominous violet glow. A ward stretched around our broken shelter, pushing the attackers further away. The Leucrota sat in aw as my sword did its work to protect us. Disnel and Rindiel observed closely. This power was beyond them, it was even beyond me. The arrows kept falling, turning the outside into a field of spokes protruding for any open area. There was no questioning who our attackers were. The Parikh were aggressive in nature, their legend rings true.

The arrows came to an abrupt stop. Where our view of the trees above was blackened by them, they ended as quickly as they came. A single Bosmer stepped into view, many paces away. The Parikh were beginning to reveal themselves. One by one, they stepped from behind massive roots, mounds, boulders, some streamed down vines from above. Their faces were marked with war paint and tattoos riddled their bodies. They donned special armor made of the animals they ate and hunted. Skull headdresses, skin garments, and feathered ornamentals were a part of their wild appearance. In only moments, they crowded the ward, but not touching its boundary.

I stepped out to the front, and their eyes fell on me. They were more curious than angry. Seeing fire in Valenwood was an odd thing—and highly illegal. It was an unforgivable crime for the Greenpact Bosmer. The only punishment was a sacrifice, a gift of flesh and blood to Y'ffre.

The sea of Parikh began to part, making room for an eight-legged creature. It snapped sharpened pincers and stabbed the ground with its octadic legs as it walked. With a shell that looked harder than iron, something like that would take some effort to kill. Sitting on its back was another Bosmer, this one wore the ceremonial headdress of a dungeon ram. Its thick skull plating covered every inch of his head with two carved holes revealing two jade eyes. Large horns curved out then curled in making a spiral.

'Chieftain Faye of the Parikh,' Rindiel said in a low growl.

'Is he strong?' I asked, matching his tone.

'I once saw him snap a mammoth's head with his bare hands.'

'I see…'

The chieftain stepped from his giant mudcrab and approached the ward. He analyzed it closely, taking the precaution not to touch it. He turned to one of his tribesmen and said something in Bosmeris. The words were too rough for me to make out—a dialect I never heard before. It seems that most Greenpact tribes are so isolated they create their own way of speaking. The tribesman seemed to oblige and passed his chieftain a bone spear. Faye was strong, as all chieftains were. I don't think I would appreciate a fight with him.

When the bone spear touched Twilight Talon's ward, it began to burn a fireless burn and breakdown to ash. The Parikh gasped almost in unison. To astonish such a powerful tribe was as terrifying as it was invigorating. Faye turned to his tribe once more and called out to them. After a few moments, Shaman Valos steps out with a hand to his wound, but he'll survive. These Parikh were strong people.

'Valos,' I said as he stepped towards the edge of my ward.

He whispered something in Faye's ear. The chieftain grumbled.

'Why are you here?' the chieftain asked.

'I got what I needed,' I told him.

'What is it that you needed?'

'The secret you held. It's about my mother.' I matched him in a glare. 'About the _Ghost Flame_.'

' _Ghost Flame_ …' He repeated the word. 'The Dremora hunter. She killed many Daedra during the Anguish time.'

I nodded. 'She did. You helped her achieve that power. And then you helped her hide it.'

'No secrets here.'

I shook my head vigorously. 'But you don't deny having done it?'

The chieftain watched me from behind his skull headdress. 'Extraction. Memory. Banked.' He pointed to his head and pretended to pull something from it. 'Only names remain. No locations. No time. Secrets from other Royals hidden in one mind.'

'He's saying exactly what Valos said. Any recollection of _Ghost Flame_ was hidden away with Red Moss. They're gone. Gone forever.' Rindiel closed his eyes. 'My tribe is dead, Leila. And the other Royal tribes do not remember the transaction made with your mother. The _Ghost_ _Flame_ is safe.'

'As long as someone knows where it is, Valenwood is in danger. Monsotar has made it clear that it does not matter,' I said.

'Monsotar simply wants power whether it is possessing that or something else. It does not matter to him. However, the Tam'Akar obsesses over the _Ghost Flame_. Your brother made a lot of choices up until his death, perhaps turning on Monsotar wasn't the wisest.'

'Milkar wanted to destroy the Thieves of the Wood because of their hold on Valenwood's politicians. Their inactivity against the Tam'Akar was because of him. We would have turned their heads towards Aridiil's atrocities a long time ago.' I turned on Rindiel. 'You were the one that allowed Monsotar to help the Tam'Akar find and destroy your tribe. _You_ did that, Rindiel.'

'You don't understand. What is it that you perceive?' Rindiel walked up to me. 'The Red Moss would have always been a target. You think Elren's father fell in love with my sister? He was an imperial spy. He wanted the _Ghost Flame_ for the Empire. My ignorant sister didn't know it then, and she failed to see it when I told her. When Elren was born, he… he loved his human father. But he didn't know the truth. He didn't know the farce it was. The tribe chose to keep him there. Even after I revealed the truth to them, that human said he'd fallen in love with my sister and the clans of the Red Moss. He said he has turned against the Empire to raise his boy.' Sadness welled up in Rindiel's eyes. 'The Dominion came and took him away. They tortured him for months. And that's when Aridiil caught wind of our power to hold any secret.'

'It painted a target on you for the inquisitors…'

Rindiel nodded. 'It did. We were at risk because of Elren's father. He didn't possess our tribe's ability, but he knew the secrets we were supposed to protect. That's why I told Monsotar to have them killed. Aridiil didn't know _how_ we kept secrets, and he didn't have to.' Rindiel tapped his head. 'It isn't written on scroll or parchment or any sort of stone tablets. We write them here. And it can't be extracted through torture. But there was one way, and I knew that the Tam'Akar would have been capable of getting away with it. It was too much of a risk. So, the only way was to…end them. Once dead, there was no way for them to extract the secrets that we carried with us. I had no choice!'

'You got them killed to save the _Ghost Flame_?' My skin tingled.

'Save the entirety of Tamriel.'

'You've been harboring all of this fine information, Rindiel.' Disnel pulled up beside us. 'Doesn't that seem a bit traitorous to you, my friend?'

'Monsotar doesn't know, and he never will, Disnel.'

'He will when I tell him.' Disnel smirked.

'No, _my friend_. He won't.'

As fast as lightning, Rindiel struck out with his sword, slashing away at Disnel's chest. The old Crow thrashed to the side, mouth agape. Shock rattled him as he dropped to the floor. But Disnel was a Crow and still very powerful, a simple cut wouldn't stop him. Vine grew from the ground, coiling and writhing around Rindiel, but he moved quickly, pulling his Ranseur to hand. With a quick activation of its enchantment, the vines stopped, petrified in light. Rindiel took aim and blasted Disnel with a brilliant beam of white light penetrating through his torso.

'Does it make sense to you now, Leila? The Ghost Flame is hidden within minds. But with those minds gone, it'll never be found. That is the curse of the Red Moss that your mother gave to us.' Rindiel heaved air into his lungs.

'Elren's search…' I felt the tears come. 'He was looking for survivors…'

'I am the cause of his path. I wish there was a better way. I wish I didn't have to lie to him.'

'Do you think they exist?'

Rindiel nodded. 'They do. And I believe Elren is with them.'

I clamped my hands over my mouth and took a step back. I couldn't stop the tears, and my heart cringed. Knots formed in my stomach, and I nearly lost my balance. 'Alive?' I choked on the word.

Elren's uncle turned back to Chieftain Faye. 'I want to offer a token of peace. We surrender.'

I heard words filter from Faye's mouth, but I couldn't hear past the throbbing in my ears. I learned Elren was alive, but I think somewhere deep down inside of me, I knew he was. Elren wasn't there when Monsotar killed Milkar, Aranwen, Esmond, and the others. He wasn't there when he burned their bodies. Elren disappeared that day, and he never returned. But what if he did? What if he went back and everyone had abandoned him. Or he discovered we were all dead. What about me? Had he heard of my exploits? Were there any rumors of me living?

Why didn't he come to save me?

'Raven, are you alright?'

I turned to see the Leucrota crowding around me. They all leaned forward to lift me to my feet. I hadn't noticed I'd slunk to my knees. I searched for some bearings and found my footing. 'There's a lot of work to be done,' I told them.

'I agree,' Larethia said. The others mumbled their approval.

'I will allow you to live,' Chieftain Faye began, 'If you could rebuild these people's homes that you destroyed with your…fires.'

We all glanced each other, pondering the impossible. None of us were home-singers. And then it dawned on us. We did have a home-singer amongst us, but he was a corpse on the ground.

Disnel's body laid there, a wound so clean through his chest, it was a perfect hole.

'We missed that chance, didn't we?' Reiran chuckled uneasily.

'Is there any other way?' I asked Chieftain Faye. He searched my eyes before shaking his head slowly.

'His blood, Raven.' Orc pointed towards Disnel's body. 'We can spread his blood across the town.'

Shaman Valos murmured to Chieftain Faye. The chieftain nodded. 'His blood. His ability with the forest. Magicka lay in blood still so fresh. Use it. Rebirth this place.'

I gave the command to the Leucrota, and they went hard at work. It was an ugly business taking Disnel's blood. The Parikh reeled out from the vicinity and disappeared up into the forest trees. Disnel's blood was spread to the corners of Longvale all through the center of the town.

Our fire traps weren't enough to kill anyone, not even a child. But they did burn a long way throughout Longvale. Taking homes away from the people. Monsotar operates as such: To help the greater amount of people, he would sacrifice the little for the many. I didn't like his ways. I wanted to save everyone, and it was possible. It was as Chieftain Valos said, there aren't any easy ways. There never will be for as long as I live.

This day, I saw a new light in everyone that experienced it with me. The Leucrota, a small group of bandits absorbed into the massive organization of the Thieves of the Wood was once like the Silver Crescents. They dreamed of a time where corruption in Valenwood was destroyed. They were once the ones that did things so that others wouldn't have to. Was that not the definition of a hero? Can criminals ever count themselves as such?

In this world and on this great continent of Tamriel, there is peace, and there is violence. We try to keep the former and dispel the latter. But all we end up achieving is a warped and mixed, rough amalgam of the two. Like a failed sword with the wrong alloys.

I wanted a revolution. Where people seek peace in violence, I wanted to change that system.

I needed to change people's minds.


	30. Standing For a Broken Promise

_We are the masters of our own disasters. The souls that have come before you held their destinies in their own hands. The Divines can only write you permission to follow such paths of atonement – Rollyn The Special_

* * *

Chapter 30: Standing for a Broken Promise

'Do you think there are any loyalists in the Leucrota? There could be loose ends.' Rindiel moved as a shadow towards the moonlight.

Outside the balcony, the Grove of Bent Grasses was a sea of trees spread out in all directions, swimming in a world of grass. This place was once a wild farm used to grow Iron-Bark trees. Centaurcrass, a Graht-Oak Iron-Bark once a producer of Iron-Bark wood, is now home to the Thieves of the Wood. This place is supposed to hold meaning to me. My Keepsake. My father's true home.

'For now, I don't think so,' I told him. 'Larethia, Grim, and Orc have some discrepancies about their role in the Thieves of the Wood. Falcon and Fentiin are dead. That leaves Dark Tooth, I don't like him much, Reiran, Sul, and Mondo.'

'Too risky.'

'It could be, but I don't want to kill them. I don't want that blood on my hands.' I pulled my hood tighter about my head. 'I want to do things differently now.'

The shadows streaked across the Crow's face. This meet up was prohibited; Monsotar outlawed me to speak with anyone during certain hours. The time where observing me was quite difficult. 'Weed out the untrustworthy lot,' Rindiel said, turning to me. 'Discover who's with you and who isn't.'

'What do I tell them?'

'You tell the truth to the ones you're most sure of. The bottom lines. Then the others, you tell them lies. If Monsotar gets wind of your plot, you listen to whichever story he reiterates, then you prove them wrong.'

I hefted my bow and sword across my back and buckled them tight. My quiver sat saddled in the small of my back comfortable and light. I ran my hands over my bandolier of throwing knives and checked my dagger and various other places I kept blades. There was hardly ever a time I traveled lightly. I felt safe with them. My armor was almost always freshly cleaned from the grit of a job. I hoped what I sought to accomplish will go without a hitch, but it was always taking a risk.

'When you return, we'll speak with the Leucrota. For now, I've opened an opportunity for you to reach Chieftain Gleril. It's up to you from there.' Rindiel folded his arms under his cloak.

'It's a stretch.' Memories of Ceril's and Sickle Ear's smiles raced through my mind's eye. 'I must tell the chieftain everything that has happened until this point. I don't think he'll trust me any longer.'

Rindiel turned to me, the moonlight illuminating the green of his irises. 'My entire tribe died so that Tamriel wouldn't see the massacre the Thalmor seeks upon the Empire. Your friendship with the Raw Tooth's chieftain does not matter against what Monsotar will do if he uses him to power another _Ghost Flame_.'

'My only wish is that he sees reason through his hurt.'

Rindiel slipped onto the hewn lip of the loggia. 'You best get going. My surety of Monsotar not already knowing of our dealings has dwindled for quite some time.' With those words, he disappeared out into the forest.

It's true, I told Gleril that I would protect his daughter and his entire tribe, but I failed miserably. I broke that promise. I let my anger, and my pride put us right into Monsotar's trap. I gave him the excuse to hunt us and retaliate. It's my duty to make it right.

Slipping through the shadows was a challenge. Centaurcrass was what was left of a Graht-Oak that my father's family once farmed through this grove. Hundreds of miscreants under Monsotar's coin has found their home here. I don't count myself all too lucky, I try to contribute my survival through my skill, but here and now, I found myself praying to any divines that would listen to the words of a sinner and a daughter of shadows. Sneaking past an army was not easy, especially if each soldier had their own skill level of sneaking.

On the ground, the shadows were deeper and thick with inky blackness. In the avenues between that plants emitting their Y'ffre light, I moved smoothly. There wasn't many out there, but most were coming from long journeys on jobs from far away. There least concern was another cloaked figure leaving Centaurcrass.

After Longvale, I sought more answers out of Rindiel. To learn the truth gave me a new mode of hope that I will carry along with me to the Seven Clover Grove. Elren was still alive, and he was out there somewhere with the survivors of the Red Moss tribe. He was out there, but I am here. It's been over six moon cycles since I watched the Silver Crescents die. My brothers, Esmond, Ceril, and Sickle Ear died by Monsotar's sword. There's nothing I can do about it but continue their will within mine.

Knowing Elren, he must have a good reason not to have come for me. Somewhere out there, he must be garnering strength enough to oppose Monsotar. Or perhaps, he didn't know I was still alive. Maybe no one knew I lived on. Monsotar made a good job of keeping me imprisoned here and using me as one of his pawns. He knows that he has what I need: the ability to change this province.

Never underestimate your enemy. Before you believe them naïve, think otherwise. Monsotar wasn't someone you can get one over. His mind can be placed among the greatest thinkers of Tamriel, and his legend holds nothing back in terms of his abilities. If I even think I have any sort of crossings in my heart about bringing down the Thieves of the Wood under his nose, I was wrong. And yet, three of his crows are dead because of me. That leaves only Rindiel left, and then there's me.

I came to the Pit of Hogs and found my beast. The sniveling thing gave me a snort of recognition and lowered his back. I found my comfort in the saddle and steered him back into the forest. The Seven Clover Grove was days away, and but I don't think I would feel optimistic about going there because of the promise I couldn't keep to Chieftain Gleril and First Lady Belwa.

Heat wrapped over my body as if I was plunging slowly into a bath of heated water. The Fellhog stopped into a canter, its steps growing weaker and weaker by the moment. The air grew so hot, it was as if high summer brought its blister. My eyes grew puffy, and my skin became splotchy. I leaned forward on the Fellhog, but the creature didn't like it. His skin felt like a skillet.

This was Monsotar's doing. There was no doubt about it. He caught me.

I reached for my sword and pulled it free of its scabbard. I activated the second rune on Twilight Talon, and a ward began to creep over me and my steed. My regained consciousness filled me with the world. The trees high in the sky spun dizzily. The heaviness over my eyes burned with the weight of fatigue.

'You know… I don't really condone going on jobs alone. I usually would like for the members of this gang to stay safe.'

I turned my head slowly to see the silhouette of a man among the roots and underbrush. The soft glow of the flora illuminated his eyes, blurred lines down his cheeks and jaw and across his shoulders and chest.

The heat pulled the life from my muscles, causing them to spasm as the draw of hydration climbed then declined. My ward helped only some, dispelling Goldfire's enchantment enough so that I could have a handle on the situation. The acrid air stuffed my lungs with an outstanding pressure that made me drown even in the absence of water. How could anyone begin to stand against someone like him? His power knew no bounds.

With the little energy I could garner, I slammed myself against my Fellhog and rolled the giant on its back. It gave a dozen pained and frightened hard snorts, but I saved it from its demise.

I turned to Monsotar as he sat in the shadow. 'Stop…please.'

'There was a time where the denizens of this forsaken land were reasonable people,' Monsotar began. 'You could tell them you offered a service, protection, if you will, and they would reasonable and logically take it into consideration. There are outcomes to being stupid here in Valenwood, and they aren't good ones.' He began circling my ward. 'You'd think the wisest Bosmer would understand what an offer of my hand can do. There are people out there that want them dead, and yet, they refuse to beseech the only mortal that has the capabilities to help them.'

'I have to tell Chieftain Gleril that his daughter is dead.'

'Oh?' Monsotar looked down on me with a raised eyebrow. 'That's not what I've been asking, my Young Raven. You owe me a great deal.' He raised his sword and plunged it into my ward. It didn't burn away like the Parikh's spears. Steady cracks began to web over the integrity of my sword's power, slipping in the heat. It didn't seem Monsotar was trying to deliberately hurt me, he was lost in curiosity.

In a single moment, he pulled back and sheathed his sword.

'I owe it to the Raw Tooth to tell them what's coming. What you're going to do to them.'

'And what is it, if I may ask, do you believe I'm going to do to them, Raven?'

I manage to bring myself to a knee. 'What you do best.'

'No, my dear.' Monsotar shook his head in disappointment. 'This is just business. Nirn has always been about advantages. Who has the better advantage to make it through. It is one of the most important rules in life and in death. The Divines knew it, our ancestors knew it, and we should follow the same path. The Thieves of the Wood is _my_ advantage, and the souls who support it are a part of one cohesive advantage. It's like a siege engine with its multiple parts. Without a single limb, bolt, or component, the siege engine ceases to work. That is what this is here. I _need_ Chieftain Gleril, or else this machine will no longer work.'

'People aren't just components. Ceril was not a component, or a bolt, or a fucking limb. She wasn't a cog in your machine, she was a loving soul that wanted to see a better world for her tribe, and she strove for it in every waking moment of her life! And you fucking killed her and tried to feed her flesh to me, you sick… you sick…' I tried to spit the words out, but memories can be dangerous to those who have lived hard. They can cut you at every corner. 'You…'

Monsotar stood in silence for what felt like a long time, but the passage of time is an illusion. Since losing Elren, and since my brothers died, a minute has felt like an eternity. Under his reign, there was no end to my heartache. I wanted nothing but to destroy everything he stood for. I wanted to hang him by his entrails, but it has always been that pivotal anger within me that has put me in this position. Elren was out there somewhere, and there were many things that I needed to mend before, I could start to take on Monsotar again. And I had to become stronger. As I was right now, Monsotar was so far out of my league. I needed help, and I felt alone with it all.

'Can you see it, Leila Lockharte?' I noticed he used my full name. 'Can you feel the fire well up in you before the cold takes over?'

'What…what are you saying?'

'There is still so much a foolish little girl like you do not understand. And I'm afraid that you will never come to understand it. I don't like you. If it were up to me, I would cut you down where you stand and exert the fullest force Goldfire can deliver.'

'Up to you—'

'But I'll let you go,' Monsotar said. 'And I'll go with you…'

'I—'

'I'll give you a head start. I can do with a nice walk. And the weather is nice.'

My eyes widened. 'Why?'

Monsotar raised a brow and shrugged. 'You intrigue me all the same, Raven. Go to Gleril and tell him what needs to be done. If you can't do that before I arrive then well… I have my methods. And they are probably better than yours.'

I pulled myself onto my Fellhog and rammed my heels into the pork of it. The Fellhog squealed to life. I didn't look back to see how fast he was behind us. I just kept going. Don't look back. Don't think about it. Monsotar's heat, the rotten smell of him, and the fear that I felt lingered over me.

* * *

I knew I was in the Seven Clover Grove when a hunting party riding on Greater Forest Reindeer. The magnificent creatures rivaled the Fellhogs in their ability to manage the twisting jungle we live in. And at great speeds. Fellhogs were meaty monsters that plowed through the underbrush along their improvised routes while the Greater Reindeer elegantly hopped tops of root walls.

The night was long, and the sun hasn't reached its reawakening just yet. The archaic boughs swung and knocked each other in the brewing winds from the north. A hissing spell fell over the forest as large leathery leaves slapped each other almost playfully. You could taste the energy in the air and feel it on your skin. It wasn't necessary a calm, but a tranquil chaos before the world erupted around you. I found a quiet place for my Fellhog to hide under when the storm comes.

I'd ridden hard for hours, turning a day's travel to mere hours. I'd earned that time. But Monsotar was approaching, and there was just a few more before the oncoming typhoon. Gleril will need to come first, no formalities with his hierarchy.

In the distance, the triplet Graht-Oak home of the Raw Tooth loomed over their pocket of the forest. Their community had grown. What was once a nestling of nodes around the base of the trees were now a thriving set of terminals and depots. Their tribe has grown since my last visit. Perhaps their small bout of peace found them the opportunity to build.

I traveled alongside the outer forest, keeping in the darkness and out of their avenues before I could be spotted. I didn't want to interact with the people I'd betrayed because of the guilt I still withheld in my heart. It hurt far too much. In the lanes of the outer forest, I still risked being sighted or even hunted by them, but I had to take a chance. Gleril's tree sat close, so large and tall, it seemed as if I could reach out and pull it closer to me. But depth is something often deceived, and I had yet to come close.

I darted through the brush, my cloak wrapped about my face. The echo of life began to whirr at the edge of hearing as I grew closer and closer. Finally, I came to a webbing garden entrance. Thin vines, hundreds of thousands of them hung from a hundred feet above, feeding the wisp plants below. The first root wall of Gleril's Graht-Oak came into view. A massive hill creating a cliffside nearly the height of five of me. I scaled it but kept my body low on top. Down in the avenues that separated the Graht-Oaks, the Raw Tooth tribesmen moved about their snugpods and terminals. Above me, a small division opened in the bark, expelling a sweet water. That was my chance, I climbed up the further along the root and snapped the cell open before it can heal over.

Graht-Oak roots are hollow on the inside, like the stem of a quill, only these stems are large enough to fit Bosmer through comfortably. It's a very wet place, these roots. My feet squished against the bottom, like wood that she soaked in water for days on end.

The timber of it crunched from the outside, a disastrous sound and a rush of air streamed through. I stopped moving, feeling the danger around me like a sixth sense. Silence fell but was quickly ended with the metallic squawk of a Blood Eagle.

Lightning cracks began to crackle across the wood above me, splintering and severing away. The first talon broke through, and I learned the true strength of Valenwood's avian predator. Talons longer than an arm ripped the root asunder, revealing a wet world spilling with rainwater falling from the rood of the forest. And a very angry-looking Blood Eagle. Those eyes spared me one beady glare, and then it squawked its mighty call. I rolled towards the sides, but I was no match for the creature's speed. It caught my legs and ripped me from my path to Gleril.

I slid through the dirt down the side of the root wall. The sudden gust of wind and stomped thud of mud told me the giant bird landed a few paces away. With no time to scramble, I slid a knife down my sleeve, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best.

'Finally, you return.' I heard a voice call.

I looked up to see if the creature had spoken clear Bosmeris but realized the bird was a steed, ridden by a Bosmer of the Raw Tooth.

He slipped from the bird's harness and stood over me. I slipped my knife back into my sleeve and tried to stand. 'I'm Leila Lockhar—'

'I know who you are, girl.' The Bosmer snapped. 'We've met.'

I took a clear look at him and realized who he was. He stood a half head taller than I, with orb-round eyes and dark, feathery lashes. His athletic build left him with tight muscles and a cacophony of scars awarded by his years of hunting. 'Nirindir? Gleril's chief hunter…Listen we don't have much time. I—'

His fist came fast. I recognized the pull of muscle and tendons in his hands to block the blow. He countered with a shortened arrow with a sharp tip. I leaned back to get away from the hunter, but he kept coming forward, jabbing the arrow tip for my eyes. I ducked low and leg-swiped him. He hopped and came down on my leg. The pain forced me to retreat and gain distance between us.

'What are you doing? I…' I hesitated. 'I'm here to help.'

'You are here with your lies, Leila Lockharte! That is all you ever tell.' The anger set on Nirindir's face was genuine.

I held my composure and tried to stand once more. 'Wait, Nirindir. I can explain!'

'Explain why you allowed that monster to take Ceril's life. Explain why you waited so long to reveal to Chieftain Gleril and Lady Belwa their child was murdered after you promised to preserve her life with your own. Explain why she is dead, and you're still alive.'

'I…I admit I was too weak to save her!' I exclaimed from the deepest parts of my heart. 'It was all my fault that she died, but I never meant to withhold any of it from her tribe! I…I'm being held captive by Monsotar. There was no way I could—'

Nirindir roared something mighty like a senche-lion at the height of his anger. 'You lie! I've seen you. You've been working for him, walking in front of his people. You are a leader of his kinfolk. A member of his vile guild of dark art users.'

Nirindir shrugged off a small bow. I took a step back and withdrew Twilight Talon from its scabbard across my back. 'Chieftain Gleril still does not know his daughter is dead.'

'You—You haven't told him?'

Nirindir shook his head slowly. 'No, I will tell him when I possess your head to present to him.'

'Nirindir…'

His pull of the bow exceeded mine. Without Twilight Talon's enchantment, I would have been skewered by his arrows ten times over before the first beat of a heart. I ran toward his flank, but his red eagle soared in on time to cut into my path. I strafed to the other side but not before another volley of arrows riddled my ward. I twisted my sword to attack, but again the bird flew into me, its talons extended to pierce me through. I unleashed a bout of magicka from my sword, cutting the bird's talon in half.

Nirindir was a fast and nimble fighter. He leaped over his hovering creature to surprise me from above. I snapped up to meet his short sword head on. Its moonstone metal clanked against my sword's Iron-Bark wood.

The hunter backed me up against his bird, and before I knew it, I was in its grasp climbing up higher and higher towards the limbs of the Graht-Oak. When we reached a satisfying height for the bird, I could hear the boughs moaning in the wind. The clapping of thunder echoed through the canopy. And the thousand marching thuds of droplets bent the leaves with their registered collisions. Finally, it let go, and I fell with the rain.

In that fast and slow moment when your body is clambering for the ground in a fall, there are moments and slivers that find you. It's a calming time that Auriel grants you one last chance to right yourself. Most people find that their only response is to scream. I was raised knowing that I wasn't most people. I had something in me that could reach out to these moments and ask them "what's next?"

I sent a throwing knife towards a hanging Mora Vine, and it gave way. The single lifeline I had swung forth with a boar's velocity. I wrapped my hands and feet around the flesh of the vine as it swung me down then climbed a vast height in a short amount of time. Before it could reach apex swing, I propelled my body into it, giving more power at the climax. I swung hard through the air.

Somewhere behind me, the eagle squawked. The path of the vine carried me alongside Gleril's Graht-Oak, but I could not find an opening close enough.

Again, the bird came banking around the tree, this time Nirindir back on its saddle.

'Damn it,' I cursed.

A long bough cut into the path of my swing, allowing me to deposit on it. 'Is this how you want to play it then?'

Ceril and Sickle Ear were my friends, and I promised that I would keep them safe and away from harm. Instead, they died hard deaths, painful deaths. And their faces will never leave my memory for as long as I lived. I was sorry. I truly was. But I've learned to understand that sometimes that isn't enough. Nirindir hated me because this was all my doing.

Nirindir's bird made a climbing flight towards the higher branches of the tree. Hundreds of feet in the air towards the sparkling green ceiling of the forest, they looked like a single spec. I let the rain smother my face and roll down my body as I watched them. It hid my tears.

I activated all of Twilight Talon's enchantment. All three runes grew alight with violet energy, swirling in the mist. The blade sizzled with magicka. Such a powerful sword, and yet, I couldn't kill Monsotar with it. I couldn't avenge my brothers, Ceril, or any of the Silver Crescents. They were all dead, and I was powerless to honor them.

I wrapped the leathery vine around my waist and settled it tight. The squeeze nearly broke a rib, and I knew that swing certainly will. But the pain I endure doesn't matter so as long as I ended this fight and spoke with Gleril myself. Everything was riding on it. I charged off the edge of the bough, feeling like flight was something I mastered.

The swing carried me down then up and up, and at the apex of it all, I cut myself loose. I was launch high, flying like a real raven at the onset of darkness. I soared, and I cried with my sword held up towards the sky. And as I flew through the twilight, I could only think of one person.

That spec grew closer and closer.

'Elren guide me.'

The last thing I saw was Elren's face in the reflection of that bird's black eyes.

My eyes slowly rolled open. The grayness and howl of winds spoke a tale of anger and sorrow. My body felt like it was on fire. Before I could shake the blindness from my eyes, I figured I'd lost the fight with Nirindir. The memory of his desperate face filled my mind. With ultimate realization, I snapped into alertness with new vigor. My weapons were laid out on a hunt's tray, but I couldn't reach them.

I was surrounded by a cell of thick leathery greenery. I push against them, but they were hard as stone.

'Let me out of here,' I called. There was no answer. I figured Nirindir put me in here, so I wouldn't reach Chieftain Gleril, but in doing so, he will doom his entire tribe to Monsotar's fire. 'Nirindir. You don't understand. Locking me up like this will only destroy your tribe. You must let me go. You must let me see Chieftain Gleril, or else…'

Nirindir's face slipped into that single beam of light. He had dark brows and thick features. His eyes were lighter although everything else on him was darker. 'Or else?' He inquired. He folded his arms over his chest and flared his nostrils. He was angry and with good cause. I was the one that got his future chieftain killed.

' _He_ will come here and take what he needs, and he won't take it easy. If he has to, he will hurt you… You have to let me out of here.'

'I don't have to do anything, Leila.' He gritted his teeth. 'You are not to be trusted, especially after the promises you broke to us. Chieftain Gleril should have never trusted an outsider.'

'Nirindir, I understand your pain,' I said. 'Ceril and Sickle Ear are gone, and they will never come back. I am sorry…with every ounce of sorrow in my heart, I am sorry. But please—'

'But please what?' Nirindir punched the cell's divider. 'If you failed at protecting the girl I loved, what makes you think you can protect the Raw Tooth? Even the Lord of Silence disappeared on your watch.'

'I…' I choked, 'you've been watching…'

'From above.'

I wish it weren't so. I wish Elren was here right now to help me in this horror. I couldn't hold the tears in any longer. There was a time where I used to cry a lot—in my early days of training with Tutor Rollyn. I haven't even cracked a decade of life, and all I did was cry for the stupidest reasons. Ever since then, I toughened my soul and mind to this world of Nirn, not a tear has left my eyes. But now, since Milkar's death, since Elren… I cannot stop this hurt from painting me with its sadness and sorrow.

'Ceril and Sickle Ear are dead,' I said, sobbing. 'But you'll see a lot more of your people die if you don't do something about it. If you won't let me speak with Chieftain Gleril before you kill me, at least when you do tell him, have him mobilize and be prepared to flee.'

A horseshoe line formed between his eyebrows, and he slumped. 'Is it true, Leila? Do all you bring are bad omens?'

'I do not know,' I said. 'Perhaps it is better if I die.' He looked tired. 'I try to make Valenwood a better place; I've tried to save this world. But I rejected it so much that I ended up destroying it in my own right.'

Nirindir shook his head. 'If I kill you, you will never be able to right your wrongs. _You_ _will_ fix this. If not for Raw Tooth's fate but for the whole of Valenwood. That is your duty to Y'ffre.' Nirindir gathered himself and motioned for the leaf-veil but stopped. 'This might be the last time you and I speak, so I guess I can tell you.' A single tear flowed down the side of his face. 'I loved Ceril, but it was forbidden for me to be with her. That love passed as fast as the moons change. There was always something in my heart for her, however. Now that she's gone, I can never rekindle it.'

I monitored his eyes and reached out to him. 'Nirindir… Monsotar is on his way here. He wants the _Soul Link_. He needs it.'

Nirindir glared up at me and smacked my hand away. 'I won't let him have it,' he said as he turned to leave.

'Nirindir wait!' I called to his back. 'I can help! Nirindir, please, let me out.'

'Figure that out on your own, Raven of Shimmer Root.' And with those last words, he disappeared behind the leaf-veil.

I slumped to the floor and looked around. It would take days to carve my way out of this cell, and that would take breaking the Greenpact laws. I couldn't do that. I was done sinning. I was finished with breaking the hearts of the Divines and everyone that has ever trusted me. I turned to the direction of the sunlight trickling through the green ceiling. It was high morning which meant Monsotar will arrive by midnight tonight. There was still some time yet to help them. Or to at least warn everyone.

My weapons were too far out of reach to grab and break myself out, and there was nothing to work the lock open.

No one was going to make this easy for me, and I understood that. I failed time and again, and I relied heavily on my anger and hatred to bring forth my power to further my brother's agenda. Perhaps, I did not understand what it was that my brother wanted to complete in this world. I just wanted it done. I wanted to see the brighter day that he prophesized in his mind. But the path that I led would not have shown me that vision left in Milkar's eyes. There would have only been destruction at my feet. I was evil. And there was no other way to describe my behavior. _I was evil_. I shed the blood of my enemies and saved no one. Thief? Criminal? All I knew how to do was fight. I wasn't some self-righteous rogue. I wasn't a hero that stood tall like my mother and my father and the others of the Circle of Seven. All I did was hate.

I'd fallen in a pit. I'd become what I was fighting in Aridiil, in Monsotar, and in this rotten, forsaken world.

An hour passed, two, and then three. Slowly, the clouds grew from light gray to a dark muck. Valenwood never got much sky, but when the sun was out, the way the light colored our world brought a heedless beauty. In the dark days of storm, Y'ffre's Light would persist with its luminescent hues. Soft tones that brought peace and wonder in one bundle.

It was just the darkness and I, stuck in a perpetual stare.

'Look who it is!' A voice slipped into my unconsciousness, pulling me back into the world.

Fluorescence shone brighter through the fenestra. The sky behind the cap of branches and leaves floated bruised and azure clouds. Thunder enucleated the storm lingering but not receding nor extending. The entire day passed me by.

'Monsotar…' I grumbled awake. The fog of sleep slipped away, forfeiting control of my tensed muscles.

'Why's she locked away in that thing, Tentalen?' A grumble rattled his voice.

'How in the green spirits am I supposed tuh know?' Someone wrapped against the cell. 'She looks hurt.' More vague thumping. 'Raven! Raven wake up!'

I remembered this Bosmer as Tentalen, Sickle Ear's friend, and his other friend, Silo Stickfinger. I crawled up the wall, trying to bring myself upright. 'Potion…' I pointed across the room to my gear. Silo raced over to my pouch and dug through to find a small vile. Most of it was done, but it was enough to snap a few ribs back into place. The pain I could deal with, but I couldn't have punctured organs.

'What in the good divines happened to you?' Tentalen asked as Silo returned with the potion.

I drank it in one sip and tossed the vial. Life seeped into me and shot up with new vigor 'We must get to Gleril as soon as possible, it may already be too late.'

Tentalen searched for a release bud on the leaf-veil of my cell. 'W—what may be too late?'

'It's Monsotar, he's on his way here.'

Tentalen and Silo froze. 'Why?' They asked in unison.

'Monsotar wants to…negotiate with Gleril about his _soul link_ ability.' I couldn't meet their eyes. 'Since Ceril…'

'uh…uh…why were you lock away in this cell, and by who?'

'Nirindir,' I said. 'And it's because he doesn't trust me. I'm—' Their confusion brought guilt flooding into my heart. 'I'm sorry about what I'm about to tell you.'

Tentalen's hand slipped over the opening bud, and the leaf-veil rolled open. They watched me with high, sad sunken faces. My heart melted to my feet.

'Ceril and Sickle Ear have died at the hands of Monsotar. I could not protect them from him. And I cannot protect the Raw Tooth. The best I can do is convince Gleril to cooperate with Monsotar to spare yourselves any casualties.

'No! It ain't true. It can't. Ya said dat da Silver Crescens' were able to protect us.' Silo shook his head in disbelief. 'Ya said—'

'I said a lot of things, Silo. I promised you all that there would be a new way of life—a better way of life. I was wrong about everything. There was more to the Red Moss than protecting the Thornbushes. There was more to your _soul_ _link_ ability. You are invaluable to Monsotar, and it isn't because of your hunts.'

Silo clutched himself, turning his face away from mine. A long groan grumbled in his throat. It's that imagining of pain felt by a loved one before they passed. It hurts internally, setting your innards in a hard twist.

'They died—they died?' Tentalen rubbed his neck, hands shaking. 'They were so strong; how could they have—'

'It was my fault,' I told them. 'I overestimated Monsotar. I was too rash. Too headstrong! My confidence got us killed. The entire Silver Crescents destroyed right before my very eyes. Monsotar merely keeps me alive for torture. He wants to break me, but I will not break, so the torture will continue. Probably until I die.'

'Ya said he is on his ways here?' Silo asked. 'How can we help?'

'You've done a lot already. But I need to reach Gleril without interference—to warn him!'

Silo nodded. 'Yeah, we can covuh that. But one question…'

'Nirindir knows I'm working with Monsotar; I am in the Thieves of the Wood. That is the truth of this situation, and it is part of my torture.' I answered before he asked.

Silo nodded slowly. 'I…I suppose dat is somethin'. I thank ya for ya honesty, Leila.'

'Leila is dead. I cannot call myself that anymore.' I strapped on my gear and weapons. 'For now, until my brothers are avenged, I am the Black Raven of Shimmer Root. For the memory of my family. For you all. For Ceril and Sickle Ear.'

Lightning split the skies above, and thunder blasted through the symphony of rain strumming from the branches above. Tentalen, Silo, and I slipped through the brush and into the reams of blacklight of the Chieftain's Graht-Oak. The sun had completely dipped under the horizon in the far west. I closed my eyes to summon a stretch of concentration, remembering the rate of which Monsotar walked.

He was near. Or at least, he should be near. An entire day had gone by since I returned here, and I've wasted most of it. My regret is that I could on save a day on the back of my Fellhog. If I were to ride the Blood Eagle; if Nirindir only understood what I wanted to tell him, this desperate race would not have been needed. But in the end, I couldn't beat him. I didn't want to. I calculated all the moments during the battle with Nirindir, and I could have pushed it in my favor. But something came over me in the final moments before the last blow. I couldn't follow through with the attack, so I allowed Nirindir to knock my sword's ward instead. The blow was packed with power and sent me careening into the ground. It was the fall that knocked me unconscious.

These people were hurt. Not just because of me, but because the heir to their chieftainship was gone. Their beloved daughter. Ceril was genuine—a golden heart among blackened souls. She should have never come with me. Gleril and Belwa should have preserved her and kept her safe from the world. That's a wish I could lay upon my mother and my father. Why didn't they keep me from this world and from all this heartache? Someone, anyone, could have told me what this life would entail. There should have been a better warning.

I haven't seen the emerald-eyed crow in a while. It doesn't call to me.

The antechamber leading into Chieftain Gleril's chamber was how I remembered it. Nodes of glowing stone and mushrooms illuminated the dark corners. A leaf-veil blocked the way into the hollow chamber. My heart raced. This would be the first time speaking with Ceril's father since she left with us that day. If Nirindir didn't tell him anything, then perhaps he didn't know his daughter lost her life to the very Bosmer coming here to negotiate a new deal with him.

'Hope ya ready,' Silo said.

'I must do what I need to, to help the Raw Tooth. I want to save you.'

'Gleril's wrath can be harsh.'

I nodded. The leaf-veil slid open revealing a dark hollow chamber with two beams of light blessing the cathedra of the Chieftain and lady. These Greenpact leaders lived like a king and queen. They were a rich tribe that transcribed the utmost loyalty from their tribesmen. It hurt so much more walking through towards their thrones.

The chamber was deathly silent aside from the thudding of heavy raindrops against the tree's bark. In the distance, a lightning bolt broke the sky, flashing the corners of the chamber.

Silo and Tentalen had already disappeared. The lack of guardian huntsmen was unsettling.

A voice contrasted against the rain. 'You look as if you know the truth, Leila Lockharte…Or should I say the Black Raven?'

'I did not come here for any truths besides my own, Chieftain Gleril.' I peered into the dark. 'We can discuss the role of your people with the making and concealing of the _Ghost_ _Flame_ later. Right now, I need you to listen and listen carefully.'

Gleril emerged into the light from behind his cathedra. 'I can no longer feel my daughter's presence.'

I choked a sob. That's right, _soul link_ linked Ceril's soul to the animals hunted by the Raw Tooth. Of course, those with the same power would be linked.

A high and sweet whine cut across us. I turned to see Belwa sitting on the ridge of the hollow, overlooking the forest. Her arms were folded around a bundle of soft rabbit-dog skins. Another whine escaped the bundle and small arms reached out for her. I didn't see when she reached the ledge. A long sword laid at her side.

'Belwa…'

'Do not pretend you have our best interest in your heart, Raven.' Belwa talked, but her attention was still on her youngling. 'Integrity is vital here. It'll determine whether your death will be swift and painless, or long and torturous.'

'Any death would be better than living with this guilt. But I refuse to die before I help the people like I said I would.'

'You never learn, do you?' Chieftain lifted his polearm. 'It's always about you. For that reason, my daughter…'

I surveyed the rest of the chamber. 'Where's Nirindir?'

'I sent him out.'

'Are you going to kill me?'

Gleril reached for the edge of his polearm and began pricking the tip of his finger with the tip of its blade. 'I wanted to do it myself,' he said.

'Even if Monsotar is coming?' I asked. 'You want to do that here?'

Belwa began to sob. Gleril spared a glance towards her as she held her baby tightly. I did this.

'None of you have to die. Just submit.'

'Submit! Submit? Submit she says?' Gleril growled as if he was a wolf being challenged by another. 'Lay your head down before me if you know what true honor is.'

The chieftain of the Raw Tooth eyes widened when I dropped to my knees and bent my head to the ground. 'I am truly sorry.' The pain felt like fire in my throat. My tear got to soaking the wood under me.

'I understood the dangers when she left, child. I understood the possibility of her meeting her end out there with you. The risk of joining your…band. But what brings me wrathful pain is that she did not get to fight for her life. Hers was such a gentle soul, she didn't like fighting, and yet she still laid her life out for this tribe. And as she walks the great forests above, she would do it countless times more.' I heard a clattering on the ground and looked up to see Gleril's weapon. 'And she would not want me to end your life for a choice she made.'

'What are you going to do about Monsotar?' I stayed a kneel.

'He isn't here yet.' Gleril strode to his cathedra and threw himself onto it. 'You won't need to stay. Hensen!' Gleril clapped. 'Hensen!'

No one came. The child began to squeal.

My hand drifted to Twilight Talon. I wiped sweat from my brow. I hadn't noticed that it'd grown far warmer than when I arrived.

'Lady Belwa,' I began, 'you should step away from the hollow.'

Belwa stood with her babe still tightly grasped in her clutches. She met her cathedra next to a concerned Gleril.

Gleril glanced around then glared at me. 'Where are my huntsmen?'

'He's here.'

A plume of heat and flame rose dozens of feet to reach the rim of the hollow, blinding everyone inside with an audacious light. The world felt like it'd been set ablaze and my skin stung against the sheer power of the flames. The roar of a Senche-Raht, the hiss of a serpent beast—my shattered eardrums rung like a bell out of Oblivion. I stumbled back, pushed by the pressured air. Across the chamber, Gleril wrapped his body around Lady Belwa and their child. She desperately tried to cling to her Chieftain, but I saw her slipping. Fires began to sprout along the bark of the Graht-Oak, inside and out. Tips, edges, and splinters becoming torched and blackened. I dug my fingers into the wood and felt lightning bolts of pain soar through them, but I persisted.

I felt the metaled wood of my blade and activated its enchantment. A ward began to skin over the hollow ever so slowly, blocking the raving fire from outside. The tree trembled and shook. It cried for help. When I finally could grasp the entire hilt, Twilight Talon's third rune turned, and the fire began to swirl. A vortex of energy entwined with my sword as it drew into its essence. Power coursed in Twilight Talon, and in turn, into me.

The world fell dark and cool once more. I collapsed to my knees.

Gleril and Belwa were hunched in the corner over their child. Their clothes seem to crisp on the edges, but they seemed unharmed. All that was left was the blood-gurgling cries of a newborn.

At the entrance of the chamber, a small fire broke out over the leaf-veil. It curled at the fire and fell in a heap of dry ash, revealing who stood behind it.

'Well, if I'm not a white elk's ass.' Monsotar stepped into the chamber wearing a tight grin. 'Chieftain Gleril, such a pleasure to see you again! I hope you've been keeping well? Well, better than your huntsmen that is, but damn, they are useless. Had such a hard time showing me to where you stay.' Monsotar reached for the back of his belt, and we all flinched without shame.

At first, I couldn't tell what he'd reached for. It seemed like an orb of greasy blackness, but it only took a mere second to realize what it was. I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly. Half of Nirindir's face was unharmed, his eye seemed to search the room with a dead stare. The other half of the head was charred black. An atrocious stink filled the chamber. 'This one put up a pretty good fight.'

'You monster!' Lady Belwa screamed over her crying baby.

'Nirindir…' Chieftain Gleril growled.

'You disappoint me, Young Raven.' Monsotar chuckled. 'Half a year ago, you would have pounded Gleril into submission. Are you seeking atonement for your sins? For broken promises? I don't need you to atone for anything; just pay back your debts to me, and you could join your brother in Aetherius.'

He approached, and I stumbled back. 'What's the matter, Raven of Shimmer Root? You have no words for the masses? I thought you'd have some aspiring speech of anger and hatred and then go thrashing that little sword of yours around. Isn't that what you are famous for? It's certainly what my thieves think of you.' Monsotar folded his arms with a curious crunch of his face. 'You've got nothing?'

'Leila, you must help us now…' Gleril pleaded. 'You must…'

'I—' I turned to him then back to Monsotar.

'She won't,' Monsotar said. 'She's a broken little bird, that's why. You couldn't even warn a single person that I was coming. Couldn't convince simple savages to turn themselves over to me; you're nothing but a disastrously failed attempt at a hero. I know you'll try to destroy the Thieves of the Wood from the inside when I forced you under my boot. I gave you… incentives to try and set you in place for a while, but I knew. It's just… the pain on your face every day was like a high to me. Torturing you day in and day out, seeing you work for the very Mer that killed your brothers and everything that you lived for. I loved it! But it seems that I'm coming down from it. I have to see you hurt again. I _must_ see you in pain!'

'W…why?' I cried. 'Why are you doing this to me?'

Monsotar's eyes widened, and a wicked smile cracked over his lips. His nose flared into a snarl, and it was if I was staring into the mug of a Dremora. 'Well, it's because you have that bitch's face, of course.'


	31. Turning Point

_He did something to me, that Monsotar. He taught me that my hatred was a flame that can either engulf you or be honed into a weapon._

* * *

Chapter 31: Turning Point

I was tired. I couldn't take it any longer. The torture and the constant fear kept me iced over, frozen and unable to move whenever he was around. I was raped and beaten; I was punched and kicked to the edge of death, brought back, and then beaten all over again. I was too afraid to save my brothers and my friends. The very people I swore my life to, I couldn't save them.

It had to end.

I lived with the weight of my mother's name all my life. It forced me to become this twisted soul churned in the brew of this world. Good…evil…what did it all mean? Was it good to meld into a hero with a bow; was it evil to rise from the shadows and erase the nastiness she left behind? Her power was supposed to change things, not create more of what she fought. But she failed, and she failed me. What did she leave, if not a world far worse than what she tried to save it from? The Thieves of the Wood, the Tam'Akar, the Thalmor, the _Ghost Flame_ , what in the Oblivion was it all for?

Her legacy was for naught! An unending belief and expectancy slithering like oil, tainting and staining, uncaring of the mutilation of what it touches. I hated her. My brothers died because of her. My friends are dead. She hurt Elren…This was all her fault.

But alas, as I lived in the home of the Spring Gardens, I had to endure those eyes of her mural. Every portrait of faint smiles and emerald eyes locked in scrutinized staring, judging my worth and possibilities of accession befitting the old Mer that loved her. What desires of fate written on my heart stripped me away from acquiring her name, her power, that I would tarnish such the legend we all knew had an exaggerated distortion?

For a being with so much light, there isn't any shadow to stand on. All the wasted days living in someone else's shadow, none of this was mine. I was absent from myself the day I was born. Ara High-Arrow, Milkar Lockharte, and the Raven's beaten path going and going, laying it all out for me. I was missing the night I left. Who was I? Who was I? Me? Destined to become her? Him? No!

 _End it all, Leila._

Scream it at the top of your lungs until their souls can hear me.

 _End it all._

The raven sat in the darkest corner of the chamber. Far side, eyes blacker than black, it's mouth slightly ajar with the emerald pressed tightly between its beak. "End it all?" I asked it. Our worlds were frozen in time. It clamped down around the gem causing hairline fractures to travel through its form until it shattered into innumerable shards. I raised my hand to the creature, so small and sleek. Such fragility can be easily broken with one slight squeeze. I felt power seep into me, and a call on the wind. An inky shadow made a slow crawl over my hands.

'Little Black Raven,' I spoke to it softly. 'Do you know who I am?'

 _You Are Me._

The bird dissolved into a pile of shadowed essence and oozed into Twilight Talon's blade. A grumbling churned through my insides as the last of the raven disappeared.

Finally, I understood.

Gleril retreated to his Lady's side. Belwa huddled over her new baby. I found myself standing between them and Monsotar.

'I cannot win against you, Monsotar Handseed. If I were to fight you now, I would die and everyone here along with me.' I took several steps closer, my sword in hand. The trembling stopped for the first time since Milkar died. I was ready.

Monsotar raised a brow. 'But?'

'But I can't let you go any further.'

'And how do you expect to prevent _that_ from happening? I'm about ready to cook everything in this pocket of mud.' He chuckled.

I shook my head. 'You won't need to do that. Let me talk to him.'

'Fascinating,' Monsotar said incredulously. 'Show me, my Young Raven.'

The Chieftain ran a hand through his lady's hair and kissed his child before standing to face me.

It didn't feel difficult to speak to him once more. To utilize my final chance to get him to cooperate was my only concern. He had to take it or die. I did not want that. Monsotar was my problem to handle, but it could not be today. Today, everyone had to listen for all to survive. 'Your body is a soul gem, Chieftain Gleril. Just like your late daughter. The Thieves of the Wood will benefit from your cooperation in making Valenwood a better place.' Gleril lowered his chin to his chest, and his hands grew limp. He glanced Belwa.

'When I inherited the wants and needs, the very wills of everyone in the tribe, I knew that one day, I would grow to be able to give my life for every one of them.' Gleril's eyes slipped past me and on to Monsotar. 'I told myself that when that day came, I would be looked at by my people as their heart and their savior.'

'You don't need to become a sacrifice. It'll just be in vain, Gleril. If you fight us right now, you'll die. You'll leave your tribe without a leader.'

'Do you honestly believe that we Greenpact Bosmer are that simple?'

'I don't think it matters.'

Gleril's mouth fell agape. 'Leila Lockharte…No, I'm sorry… the Black Raven of Shimmer Root.' He corrected himself. 'You are not a good soul.'

Gleril took up a long knife from behind his cathedra and faced Monsotar.

I nodded. 'I understand.'

'Do you?'

I stepped to the side, leaving Monsotar's path as he made his way to face Gleril.

Gleril charged in, wildness in his eyes. His speed caught me off guard. He was fast. But Monsotar was faster. Monsotar struck Gleril's forehead sending him crashing down onto the ground. A single stream of magicka emitted from Monsotar's index finger. Gleril didn't get up, but he was alive.

'What did you do to him?' I asked.

Monsotar sighed. 'I didn't feel like killing anyone else.' He dusted himself off. 'Besides, I can't do much with a child, even if it has the Long-Tree clan's special ability.'

I turned Gleril over and onto his back. His eyes stared hard, but at nothing, his tongue fell limp from his mouth, saliva spewing down his cheeks and pooling beside his head. He was alive, that was for sure.

'He will live a long life,' Monsotar said. 'Or not. That depends on you, Lady Belwa.'

'What did you do to him?' I asked again.

'He's mindless now.' Monsotar shrugged.

'No!' Belwa cried 'No! Gods! why?'

'Mindless?'

'He's alive. Well, as much as a simple flower is alive. He'll still breath, grow hungry, and his heart still beats strong, but that's it. He cannot talk, cannot think, cannot remember, by the Void, he doesn't even understand what he is. Everything that made this piece of useless meat Chieftain Gleril is gone.'

'This is…'

An unintelligible groan escaped Gleril.

'Ah,' Monsotar said. 'I guess he can do that. And you can still use his _soul link_ ,' Monsotar pointed to Gleril's limp form.

'Please give him back,' Belwa cried. 'Please do not leave him like this, I beg of you.'

Monsotar released an exasperated sigh and knelt beside Gleril. 'Reduced to groveling at my feet. How sad. However, I can. But it requires two conditions.' Monsotar swooped up Gleril's knife and handed the hilt to Belwa. 'First, you'll have to come with me to Centaurcrass. Secondly, you'll have to kill the child.'

'Kill my child?' She whimpered.

'It's a liability! If either one of these two exists, that will leave your clan with too many options. I can't have that.'

Slowly, but surely, Belwa raised the knife. Her hand climbed to a height, grasping the knife's hilt tightly. I stayed her hand. 'Belwa, no!'

'Let me go!' She roared!

'You can't, that child is the future of your clan! Of your entire tribe!'

'The Raw Tooth needs a leader now!'

'You aren't thinking straight, you mustn't—'

'Of course, you'd think so, wouldn't you,' Belwa growled. 'This—this is all your fault. You did this. We asked you to protect us, but all you've done was brought us pain.'

'You do not have to worry about any of this!' I exclaimed. 'You don't have to trust me but listen well.' I stood and ripped Twilight Talon across Monsotar vest. 'I'm going to kill Monsotar, no matter what.

Monsotar reeled back, throwing his hands up against my sword.

'You need not to worry,' I said. 'Because I _will_ kill him.'

Monsotar began a slow clap. 'How valiant! Spewing stupid shit you can't accomplish again? I must say, Leila, you are dumber than I could have ever thought.'

'Call me dumb, rash, naïve…but I am who I am. There is no fighting it. I think it took me until this night to realize that I can't. I am goaded by wrath. Honed and refined over and over until it is as sharp as a tip of a sword. A cold fire, as you put it.' I lowered my blade and placed it back in its scabbard. 'Belwa, take care of Gleril. We're leaving for now.'

'So, what? I just let this happen?' She cried. 'I can't…I can't do this…'

'You don't have to take my word for it. But I will bring him back, Lady Belwa. But for now, at this moment, you should cooperate with us.' I stretched my hand towards her, but she refused it. I understood why. I made promises before, but whether I broke them or not, I still stand by it. These people, the Bosmer that I promised to protect, will be protected. Fear will grip me no longer.

'Interesting,' Monsotar said. I turned to him.

'Do you plan on punishing me?' I asked him.

He sheathed his sword. 'I have no more interest in that,' he said. 'For now.' He made his way back towards the leaf-veil, forfeiting his interest in Belwa. 'By the way, Raven of Shimmer Root.'

'What is it?'

'That sword of yours is growing increasingly more interesting.' He arched an eyebrow. 'What is it?'

'It's a sword much like yours,' I explained. 'It's Augoth Thornbush's last testament to your destruction.'

There was a seriousness about Monsotar's face that I haven't ever seen before. His face tightened, his eyes lowered, and his lips were pressed into a fine line. He glanced my way before disappearing into the antechamber.

I sighed a breath of relief, allowing the tension in my body to escape. My body hurt. These days, it always seemed to hurt. A girl like me, with the scars I bear, would shock the average child my age. I didn't feel fifteen, I felt that my life amounted to much more, a much older time of life.

Belwa wept over her beloved. I felt that I had to leave her with some parting words, but my tongue laid frozen. I've resolved to end Monsotar and end his empire. It won't end the pain and suffering he's caused throughout the years, but that isn't my destiny, and it never was. I joined Milkar, and I thought that I'd be able to change things. I would help Milkar change people's minds and see that the person pulling strings in Valenwood was him. That was an airy hope with no grounds in reality. My only duty was as a weapon against the worst interest of this province. Until this very hour, I wasn't okay with it. I tried to make promises, I couldn't keep; I tried to pursue peaceful ends with the blade of my sword. I thought if I killed the right person, Milkar's dream would be realized. I was wrong…terribly wrong.

Those days are over now. I've come to full understanding of what I am and what I need to be. I am a killer, I am angry, and I am not the shadow that matches my mother's or my brother's light. I am simply darkness with a long list of enemies.

I am the Black Raven. This is my turning point. A complete pivot from what I thought I was.

It's about time I ended this.

* * *

I found Monsotar waiting for me outside staring out at the glittering forest. He showered no interest in me, but when I arrived, we began our journey back together. I kept my wits about me. We were two enemies walking side by side.

'I have to retrieve my Fellhog,' I said, stopping.

'Leave it. Let's take a walk, it's nice weather.'

I held my hand out as the last of the rain drizzled down from above. Through the canopy and the emergent layer towards the sky, the clouds blotched here and there, showing the stars in some places. 'Ah.'

I believed that even if I tried hard enough, I would not be able to fully understand who Monsotar was. Evil coursed through his veins, but his mind seems to have always been clear. Or so it seemed. Why was it that I made such an enemy of this Bosmer? Love, loyalty, honor, these words were some answers. This monster has done the unfathomable to the people he claimed to protect. The indifferent killing of the Silver Crescents was grounded in our role of cleansing him from the world that pulls the hierarchy on puppet strings. His retaliation.

Officials of our great tree, Falinesti, fed into their greed, mixing with guilds of the shadow to further their own agendas. The Thalmor, the Cameron throne, who knows what Monsotar meant to them.

There was, of course, some missing link that I needed to discover. The Tam'Akar, Valenwood's struggle in the Oblivion Crisis, the rise of the Thieves of the Wood, my brother, and the Greenpact Bosmer, there was something there. Perhaps the pursuit of the _Ghost Flame_ went beyond the crawl for power. But why that? Why was is it _that_ power which everyone wanted? The power of the divines lay in stones unturned, weapons of ancient worlds, abilities of Men, Mer, and Beastfolk from far across Tamriel, yet eyes are laid on my mother's power. Something must connect it all together.

'Monsotar,' I said as we made our way through the forest. Silence lingered for a moment before he decided to give thought to me.

'I know your question, Raven.'

I waited a moment, and I felt a roar bubbling inside of me. 'Tell me then. How do you know my mother?'

'Ara of the Ghost Bow. Ara of the Twilight Flame. The proclaimed leader of the Circle of Seven, and the hero of Valenwood. She was no ordinary Bosmer. She was born to the High-Arrow clan of warriors and archers. In the world of archery, they were royalty. There wasn't a Bosmer that didn't know of their legendary skills. However, Ara was an elite, even among her own clan. Just like her parents before her, she joined the Ranger Guard at the age of six and trained until she was thirteen-years-old. Did you know she reached the rank of _Hand_ only two days after her Anchor Point ceremony?' Monsotar smiled. 'She was that great. By the time she was fifteen, the Oblivion gates had opened, and she lost everything.'

'Are you giving me a history lesson, or are you going to tell me why is it that my mother seems to be behind everything wrong with everything?'

Monsotar shook his head slowly. 'In order to understand, you must _fully_ understand, Raven. That is how it is.'

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. 'Continue.'

'Oh, right…the gates. The Daedra ripped through all Tamriel, but nothing like the hordes that overran Northern Valenwood. Ten thousand Ranger Guard died, but Ara High-Arrow, and some others survived. Something happened to have push Ara over the edge. Perhaps she glimpsed the bowels of Oblivion, no, perhaps she took a long, good stare, you know… like seeing a good-looking—never mind. Anyway, she knew something no one else did. A power that didn't exist at the time, something that no one could sit and dream of, but she did. And she wasn't going to sit idly by while the people of Valenwood kept dying. So, she did something that sent a shift through the land. She gathered specific groups of people to her and bent them over. The Red Moss, whose power to store secrets through magical means meant no one else would discover how she did it; the Raw Tooth, whose power to absorb the souls of anything into themselves like gods-damned living soul gems; I'm not too sure why the Parikh were summoned, but my best guess was that their tribe that handled Daedra, even Dremora, easily. The final of the four is the Clavente—mystics, sorcerers, and mages…' Monsotar turned to me. 'Worshippers of Boethiah. These four tribes were her key to pulling power out of an unknown plane of Oblivion, and it was successful. Later, she would ask them to sacrifice their memories of the event to the Red Moss.'

'None of this tells me anything!'

'Patience, my precious Raven,' Monsotar continued. 'An entire century had passed since the Oblivion Crisis, and Ara still hadn't stopped working in the shadows. She was complacent in giving Valenwood over to the Thalmor. She watched as her husband bid for power as a politician. As time climbed, elven supremacy did with it. No one was fond of it, but it was happening. The supremacy of Men was far worse to the top Bosmer of Valenwood. But Ara knew what lengths they would take to achieve their goal to seat an elf on the Ruby Throne. Sometimes when I think back on this story, I often come to the conclusion that your mother knew secrets rest of the Circle of Seven didn't. I'm certain of it. It had to be something she saw in Arenthia that frightened her to go the lengths she did, even after the dragonfires were relit. She didn't have a choice but to allow her husband to welcome the Thalmor; she couldn't do much…but in the shadows, she fought with everything she had.'

'What?' I inquired incredulously. 'She fought in the shadows?'

Monsotar's laugh boomed into the forest, disrupting the silence. 'That's just wonderful! Milkar, you are a fucking fool! Your own sister, eh?' He spoke the words to himself.

'I—'

'Your mother, Ara High-Arrow became a terrorist. I thought you would've known. You are following in her footsteps, aren't you?'

I stopped. 'That can't be the truth.'

Monsotar beckoned me. 'Come. Come. The walk is long—no stopping!'

'Is it that the truth?'

'Milkar, even Esmond knew. Even your mentor, Rollyn the Special, her closest friend. They've all played you for a fool. Ara High-Arrow worked in the shadows, disrupting Thalmor plans behind Faeden's back. She was never caught though. However, it was the truth. Your mother is the progenitor of the Thieves of the Wood. She wasn't a thief, but she recruited them by the dozens.' Monsotar began chuckling again. 'And she trained me.'

It was as if time had stopped, and all that existed was the space before me and Monsotar's voice. He explained my mother's past, his past, and how she was the missing link. I connected the dots, and it made even more sense. Mother pulled the _Ghost Flame_ from divines know where and used it against the evil she saw on that day. But she saw something that went beyond the Oblivion Crisis, something direr than that. And it had everything to do with the Thalmor, the Tam'Akar, and those in power.

I couldn't believe it! All this time everyone knew except me. I was just used. More questions arose with Monsotar's answers, and I wanted time to digest it all. Where do I stand in this chaotic world my mother created?

'She trained me for some time, and in those years, I grew a following of my own. A group of powerful magic-using thieves I called the Thieves of the Wood. But that all ended.'

'Why?'

'Milkar was born.' The words seemed like they hurt as he spoke them.

'My brother?'

'He changed everything. Ara hid her power away at the same time he was born. It was like the child took the rebellion out of her. She left it all when your brother was born. Aridiil the Nefarious kept up his struggle to persuade Ara to share the secrets of the _Ghost Flame_. She told us nothing but left us to defend a power we couldn't see, use, or possess. Everyone became desperate for it. They droned over the possibilities. But Milkar? He's the worst of them all. Instead of respecting his mother's dying wish, he hunted the _Ghost Flame_ possibly more than I did. He even went as far as brainwashing everyone around him to help him. People like you are just pawns. Your brother played you. He made you believe that what he wanted was for Valenwood's best to get a footing of his own. I'm surprised he didn't just claim birthright to the whole damn thing.'

'But…you hold such remorse against my brother. When you killed him, you were indifferent; you acted like it didn't matter to you! And Esmond… And—I can't believe this. None of it must be true.'

'There are a thousand reasons why your life is the way it is now. Me, Milkar, Ara, Faeden, Esmond, Aranwen, Augoth, Torgoth, Aridiil, Rollyn, and the whole fucking forest's problems intertwined around one silly little girl with a silly little sword yapping her little shit-shooter. We all just completely fucked you repeatedly with a fifty-mer long branch, and you're telling me I'm the only fucker to have rocked your pathetic little world?' Monsotar scoffed. 'The Void and all of its denizen be fucked because this here is a narrow streaming shit show. The divines have either cursed you to shit, or they simply have just abandoned you to the wolves because what the fucking Oblivion? I don't know about you, but I would just toss the coin and throw myself over a damn ravine by now.'

'No!'

'Your mother! Your gods-damned mother abandoned me for that shit-for-brains brother of yours, and what happens? He decides to return to me, asks for my help in undoing all that Ara had sacrificed her grace for, and when I turned him away, he takes my family with him? You thought he was the good guy, but he wasn't. He's no better than I am, and you would have to be blind not to see it.'

'Well if that's what it is, then so be it! Let the ravens murder with crows and the crows share the raven's unkindness! I don't want to be caught in the middle of this anymore. I made a mistake that night when I asked to join Milkar, a huge mistake! I only wish that he was alive so that I could tell him I can't do this anymore. I want to cast my own shadow. I want to end this whole thing once and for all.' I dropped to the ground, my body stiffened, quivering with struggle. I punched the ground until my knuckles bloodied. 'I want revolution, Monsotar. I want revolution! I'll wipe everything clean!'

Monsotar held a satisfied smile. 'Hmph…did you know fires are the best way to do away with the old and create the new?'

'Fire…' I said. 'Fire. We're both flames. One cold, one hot.'

'How impertinent,' Monsotar said. 'Come. Let's return to Centaurcrass. I've decided that I _will_ punish you after all.'

* * *

We reached Centaurcrass two days later. Quite a time to build any resolve within myself. This was a lot to think on. Truths reveal sharp edges to wound and hurt, not kill. And that's what Monsotar did to me. He wounded me and left me to bleed out. It's going to be a bit different from here on out. I don't see out the eyes of an angry child, not anymore. I've grown, not in age, but in mind. My hunger for blood reverted to hunger for simple truths, and truths reveal sharp edges. Not to kill, but to hurt.

What now?

My convictions, my words, my path—they'll remain the same. I will burn and reveal the shadows that surround me. The fires that I cast will clean away the filth that plagues this land, and I will build anew.

As the sun rises in the east, shadows are always cast here in Valenwood. There's always a twilight I must walk through. Whether I'm alone or with people that I love or loved, I will always walk through this twilight with my head held high, sword and bow in hand, and Ara's blood pumping through my veins.

The entrance to Centaurcrass seemed desolate and empty. Monsotar disappeared as soon as its roots were visible. I made the last mile alone. Inside the Graht-Oak wasn't any better. It was quiet, and I've never seen the Thieves of the Wood this peaceful.

The Leucrota's longhouse slept in peace. I goaded the leaf-veil open.

Slings were quiet, laughter amiss, cards stacked upon tables, the rock fire pit was smoldering but still warm. Snores fill the low light. 'I've returned,' I said.

Some of them emerged from their slumber, and the ones that stayed asleep received a sharp kick in the head.

'I want all of you to stack the supply crates here. Create a dais for me to sit on.'

They went to it and finished, crates on top of crates until it all came together. I sat, a commander and her subordinates. We were soldiers in a war of thieves and elites. On one side, it's believed they're the authority, leaders of the people that is heralded as saviors. Then there's the downtrodden, those who see the truth and reject those who would lie to us. Neither side was good, but we had our rights and wrongs, and it all depended on which would you have come to bear. We were the painful truth, and they were the blissful lie.

That little girl that wanted to promise safety and save everyone died along with my naivety. I saw through the lies—the illusions. I couldn't throw my stakes in with anyone but myself. This time, I'll be the one to be on top. Not Monsotar, not Milkar, not anyone else, because I knew the truth was out there ready for me to throttle it at the neck. I'm the only one that could handle it. Like my mother before me, I'm the only one that will rightfully bring us into prosperity.

I have my soldiers. A well-spring of talented idiots to help me do the job. But we were weak until we could become strong.

Monsotar knows what he brewed. He believes himself still in control, and for now, I'll let him believe he is. Until that right moment where the raven with her wings clipped, grow new ones.

I reached into one of the crates and pulled forth an encased bottle of spiced wine. The most-traded variety of the Imperial Trading Company. Mondo brought a platter with seven clay cups upon it. I set to pouring and handing them out.

'Seems the boss wants to party,' Reiran said, raising his cup as one came around to him. 'I'll oblige!'

'This is more than just about partying, Reiran.' Larethia took hers and gave it a whiff. 'Ah.' She smiled.

'Today marks an important day,' I told them. I scanned the Leucrota as they stared on.

I never asked to be absolved of my sins. Gleril showed me that I didn't deserve it. I had to own my destiny, and I could no longer run away from it. Throughout my life, I've been molded into something that was supposed to be more than I am, than I was, and it was in those lost years that I decided to reject when my brother offered his hand. I was his weapon, but I won't be any longer. I could stand here for all eternity and say that this path was my own, but I would be a liar. This is different.

Monsotar, of course, mine to kill. From the very moment I was born, I was supposed to kill him. But now…I see I am destined for so much more. I'm not just a tool to wallow in Mother's or Brother's shadow. I _am_ the darkness.

'Drink my friends.' And they drank the wine I offered. Six of them raised the bottoms of their cups and tipped the contents into their mouths. The last cup remained untouched.

'You all know the relationship with Monsotar. I work under him, close, even.' They watched me, and I watched them. 'I seek to destroy him, and I will. You all know that, don't you?'

Slow nods. 'Not all of you are on board with it, however.'

'What do you mean, Raven?' Larethia asked, coming closer. 'I told you earlier that this lot are ready.'

I shook my head. 'No, my friend. There is one other you overlooked. We all did. But that is no fault of ours. Not even hers.'

'What are you saying?' Grim looked around.

'Why don't you tell them,' I turned to her, 'Sul.'

Sul Shadow-Root opened her eyes and looked into mine. She was sitting back on a day bed behind the rest of the Leucrota in all their blind spots. I didn't need to force her into thought like before. No, she was there, in memory and insight, clear as day. Her curse was now broken.

'You can see me?' She asked.

The others turned to her, and her eyes widened.

'Sul! Get up here and grab your cup,' Reiran waved her over.

'Wait…Sul. That is your name. I know you,' Larethia made her way over to the Nocturnal worshipper. 'I remember but you, but I don't understand how.'

'That's because she's always been here, Larethia. But she melds out of mind easily. It's an illusion spell so rare in fact that even masters forget it exists. It's that nature of the spell that keeps many from knowing its existence. When someone uses it, they become invisible to memory and thought.' The Leucrota began murmuring. 'All of the memories should be flooding to your minds right now. Every secret you've passed on to one another, every private conversion you've had. You thought you were alone, but she was standing there, listening in your mind's blind spots.'

'That's incredible!' Mondo exclaimed. 'I remember a time I spent with some business dealings in Elden Root. A moment ago, I remember I was alone the entire time, but I now know I remember Sul was there behind my every step.'

'She was one of the first members Monsotar assigned to the Leucrota.' Grim now. 'Every dealing we had in secret…' He turned to Larethia. 'It's like my memory is filling black spots where she was. But how? How are we noticing her now?'

'You feel as if she was never there but they're all the same, am I right?' I asked them. 'You can thank the wine.' I stood. 'I spiked the wine with a potion that allows you to break the spell.'

Sul stood up. 'Leila, you bitch.'

'It's okay, Sul. Despite your betrayal, your memories aren't bad.'

'Monsotar will kill me now! See what you've done!'

'I said you need not worry, Sul. Come, step up. I understand what you've gone through.'

Sul hesitated for a moment. Everyone saw her now. 'I never wanted to…I was forced! Monsotar forced me to do this…He left me with this curse, and now—'

'I know what Monsotar has done to you, and now I've reversed it. The Leucrota knows who you are, and you are our friend.' I offered her my hand. 'Sul. You've had no choice but to allow Monsotar to manipulate you as a spy here in the Leucrota, but you shouldn't worry anymore. Your curse is broken. People—We will remember you now.'

'Leila—Raven. I…I'm so sorry.' The girl walked up to me.

She was so frail, so pale. A girl neglected for years because of the spell she was forced to cast. A curse of the daedric prince Nocturnal that prevents others from acknowledging your existence. She used it to report back to Monsotar. That's how he knew where I was going, and that's how he knows who to trust among his Thieves of the Wood. There may be others like her, I was sure of it. Now we know who they are, and we can see them.

This was it. This was the start of our revolution. We were going to crumble Monsotar, and he was going to watch me do it. And when the day finally comes to kill him, he will see that it was me, not Milkar, not my mother, that will complete the deed.

'It must have been lonely,' I said. 'To have your friends forget who you were. To not have an existence.'

She nodded. 'I just want to be free of this.'

'And thus, you are free now.'

'What does this mean?' asked Larethia.

I smiled and sat back on my makeshift dais. 'It means we are ready.'

My plan engulfed simplicity in complexity. Monsotar knew what my goals were. I wanted to topple him once and for all and turn my sights on what truly mattered: The Tam'Akar and the Thalmor's plans with Valenwood. Nothing else mattered. But Monsotar was a shrill, manipulative, calculative goliath, and I was nothing more than a simple raven. I didn't just want to kill Monsotar, I wanted to destroy everything he's built and make him watch as it burned to the ground. Then and only then would I administer the finishing blow. The Leucrota was only the first step. I pulled them to my side, and with Rindiel, we will be successful.

Mother wasn't just this pillar of light for all to bathe in her grace while I stood in her endless shadow. She owned her own shadows. I had my own volition to control, I didn't have to follow her or Milkar. I just had to follow what was in my heart. For those who do not know, my will is to bring about revolution. That's where I start to erase all the damage that Valenwood has endured since the beginning of the fourth era.


	32. Shimmer Roots

_No one really understands the role rogues have in shaping the world from the shadows._

* * *

Part 4

Chapter 32: Shimmer Roots

'Judge me for what I wished to be and naught for what the world has made of me.' Reiran slapped his Fellhog on its meat sending it after the others. 'O, ye, beast! Forgive me so! Though thy friendship was brief, less you become thy feast!'

'Brown Elks are just better steeds,' I told the Leucrota. 'Join the silver tongues and play-actors of the Breton city-states if being dramatic is your way.' I strapped the reins to the graceful creature, and it trusted my touch credulously. Better than tree-horses, even.

Grim accepted his new Elk with similar pleasure. He wrapped his arms around it and tugged at its antler branches. 'We once had a member in the Leucrota that cared more for the animals of Valenwood than its greenery and flowers. These were his favorite.'

'A blasphemer?' I chuckled.

'He was hung by the will of the Green Lady for breaking the Greenpact,' Grim explained. 'Used to tell stories of Moss Giants as well.'

I, for one, thought he was crazy,' Larethia said.

The more I hear about the old Leucrota, the more they seem like the Silver Crescents. I missed my brothers every moment of every day. Recounting the many times sparring, cooking, and sharing. All the jobs we tried to complete incident free. Was I ready to sacrifice them? Their lives were in my hands, and they pledged themselves to my orders.

I've settled on fighting Monsotar till the very end, but I knew that we weren't ready. Monsotar commands a legion of the lowliest of scum this province had to offer. And they would fight tooth and nail for him.

I pulled myself onto the saddle, earning a sigh from the elk. Fellhogs were all well and good, but the Brown Elks were quieter and faster. We were criminals by Dominion law and stealth had to be on our side. When the rest of the Leucrota were mounted, I spun my elk around to face them. Only eight of us were left, and although our numbers dwindled, their loyalty doubled by the day. I needed to preserve them.

'Why Brown Elks? Why not White Elks? Or even a tree-horse?' Dark Tooth sigh, but I ignored his complaints.

In truth, there was a time for change. The Leucrota were going to carry me to the end. The time when I can put an end to Monsotar and his reign. Brown Elk, White Elk, it didn't matter. What brings me closer to that moment when the Thieves of the Woods take their final fall.

Find Augoth. That was his order, and this was the job. Augoth Thornbush whom, along with Elren, disappeared six moon cycles ago after the Silver Crescents were effectively put down. It was to my hope that Augoth Thornbush stayed hidden and didn't get himself into any trouble while I was gone. But knowing that old coot, he was attracted to misfortune.

We began heading Northwest towards Elden Root. The central city of Valenwood was now the new capital of all Valenwood and the entirety of the Aldmeri Dominion. Elden Root's Graht-Oak, the Elden Tree, cast a deep and dark shadow over the forest that surrounded it. Perhaps dozens of times the size of Shimmer Root, but lesser the wild, Elden Root was probably a good place to look after Shimmer Root. That old enchanter mage wasn't well in the area of wilderness survival so I would think he'd travel to the cities to find better refuge. As long as people don't notice his abilities, he should have survived unscathed these previous months.

In the thicket of the Grahtwood region, we found ourselves making good time. Shimmer Root didn't seem to change much, and for a hundred-year-old tree, it still looked young and fresh, abstinent of its virtue. The boughs made wild lines towards the sky like fingers prodded the passing clouds. The spontaneously bursting petals that grew and rained down towards the underbrush twinkled with fluorescent light as they burned and disintegrated on the pathway down to the forest floor. The gargantuan snaking roots made trenches of the ground ripping through dirt deep down under and giving Shimmer Root the impression of standing on legs. The base of the tree raised above fifty giants standing on each other's shoulders.

There was a time where I would return here and feel the bile build in my gut. When the time came to clean the blood from my skin and armor and from under my fingernails. Standing here just before this tree, this place where I once thought of my home, where it all started, I'd always feel the weight of my sins. That was then. And although it was a mere six months ago, I feel as if it's been years since last I carried my sins inside. This time was different. This time my sins will not burden me, and I will not allow them to. I've not absolved myself of anything, only that I've made peace with my demons and accepted my sins. That is why I will win.

'Do you wish for a standing guard outside?' Larethia asked, pulling up to my flank.

I shook my head. 'That would be unnecessary.' I told her. 'This is the old hideaway of the Silver Crescents. There weren't many alive who knew what this place was. We kept it wild and did nothing to its integrity. We'll be safe—all of us on the inside.'

We rode straight into the tree, descending under the tree's base into the vast strait of Lungwort that glowed a deep, vibrant blood red. There was the skinny Elven Toadstool that emitted a pulsing blue strobe that was reminiscent of a lightning rod. An entire monarchy of massive fungi lit our way towards Shimmer Roots entrance. Finally, we came to rise in the earth to the entrance.

Entering Shimmer Root again gave me a headache. The stagnated air of sweet sap filled our lungs with thick evaporated honey. It took a good while of getting used to before my body remembered how to temper it. We left the Elk before the entrance. It better served to enter a Graht-Oak as wild as Shimmer Root without your steed. The pillars of sunlight that was drawn into the tree still reflected upon the grove that grew within the confines of the trunk. A forest within a forest. I remember the smell of the fully-grown pine and the tall birches. I ran my hands across their bark, leaving streaks of glowing moss activating to the warmth from my touch.

'Centaurcrass ain't got shit on this place, I tell ya what.' Dark Tooth swiped a grub from Shimmer Roots inner wall and popped it in his mouth. 'Even the worms here is somethin' special.'

'It's a beautiful place to live, Raven.' Sul added. 'A place secluded.'

'Thank you, Sul. And yes, it is secluded, but I never felt alone here. This was once a place full of dreams unrealized and new.'

'I'm glad you never revealed the location of this place while I was spying. I would've been obligated to…reveal it to Monsotar.' She looked down towards the dirt.

Despite espionage, Sul wasn't what you'd think. She was a criminal, yes, and all the cynicism that come with it, but she wasn't evil. She had a job, and she carried it out well. For that, I could not blame her. I was tired of blaming people for what they were or what this world dragged them to become. Sul wanted peace, Monsotar brought her chaos. That is what he does to torture us. You start to believe that somewhere in all that chaos something will clear up like a dying storm on a sunny day. Her, and like all of us, we were lonely.

'For some reason this place makes me feel like there is always some good to fight for despite it all.' She laughed.

'Well then, let's head on deeper. I'm sure my old friend Augoth left us something good to gawk at.'

'Despite that damned sword you carry on your back?' Grim inquired.

'Despite my damned sword, Grim. The Silver Crescents never got a chance to reach its peak. It never got to show what it was worth. And that was my fault in its entirety.' My breathing felt shallow, and perhaps it was because that silent little truth could still do me in. I've realized it before, and I've tried accepting that truth. That doesn't stop it from hurting. 'We were creating something great here. It was supposed to be something great.'

At the center of Shimmer Root, stood our encampment of hardened sap nodes. The tree had begun to undo the Silver Crescent's home. Any traces left by the gang was slowly being erased by the growth of the Graht-Oak. Aranwen's pot set was nothing more than bits and pieces of iron and copper, broken by the determination of the plant life. White specks of canvas and papyrus were what was left of Augoth's library of scrolls and spells he must've left behind. Anything that we'd set here to mark our home was gone. The housing inside the sap nodes were closed off to us, leaving little more of a sliver to peak into.

Orc bounded up the hill of a node and put his hands over his brow as visor against the field sized beam of sun. He scanned the surrounding grove and looked down at us. 'Say, I can't help but notice that this place is largely abandoned. So, does this mean that this the job is mucked?'

'No,' I said. 'Augoth stored his most important belongings in a chest somewhere around here. Look for it. If he were smart, he'd left some sort of clue as to where he would have hidden.' In reality, I knew Augoth would've been scared beyond measure when no one returned home. He would've hesitated to leave then ultimately figured we were all dead.

His family's home was destroyed in the fight between the Tam'Akar and the Thieves of the Wood, and with his brother dying of injuries, I didn't think there was anywhere left for him to go. I just needed a clue.

'Uh, boss.' I turned to Reiran who carried a small brown chest. He placed it at my feet. With a small knife, he slipped it in through the separation of top and bottom and pried the thing open. 'Ahah!' he exclaimed. 'Good thing your friend enchanter didn't enchant the thing, right?'

'Good indeed.' I patted Reiran on the back as he popped the lock loose.

There was a whole lot of nothing left in there except one folded piece of papyrus which was everything we needed. The paper unfolded to reveal a map of Valenwood and blotched " _x_ " in the far west side of the province. I placed a finger over a pattern of three triangles, two small ones flanking one large one.

'It wants us to head west?' Larethia asked. 'West…west…it looks like—'

'The Dragon Teeth Mountains,' I said.

'Do you think he's out there?' Grim asked

'It's surprising,' I told them. 'I was hoping he would've given up and stopped in Elden Root. But he wouldn't have left the map if he didn't make it.'

I hoped he was okay. Or at least alive.

Mondo clapped twice and summoned a scroll of blank canvas. The ink from the weathered papyrus map transferred onto Mondo's new canvas. He closed his palms together, and the map solidified.

'That's useful,' I said staring.

'Easy.' He shrugged.

Rumbling began to wrack Shimmer Root. Plumes of dust fell upon the grove like a heavy mist covering everything. A deep cough resounded to the left of me—Orc.

'Oh, brother…' More rumbling. 'Leucrota! Stand fast,' I shrugged my bow into my hands and placed an arrow onto the bowstring. '…and keep sharp.' Something within me was hoping this wasn't Florentine of the Tam'Akar. I'd had enough of their pretentious prodding into business that was never theirs.

'Going to go out on a limb and say this isn't normal?' Larethia crossed her leaf blades.

'For the tree, no, but for me, yes.'

Underneath our feet the dirt began to crack and break, separating by slithering roots and elongated plants. Air blasted soil, sap nodes, and a thick ichor from two holes wide enough to fit three heads in each. I gulped, stomping my feet at the rising leathery surface breaking from under.

'Raven, look!' Grim pointed with his ax at five appendages hilling to the back of us.

Further than that, two gargantuan sets of toes sprung forth, pilling over trees in a thunderous uprooting. The earlier appendages were joined with another on the opposite side, pulling away dust and dirt and root. Caked soil fell away from it, revealing a lined palm and creaking fingers big enough to grapple a tree.

The Leucrota began to retreat. That was well good and all, except for the fact the giant hands began to reach for us. I throw myself far out of its path as it reached for me. The spray of dirt clouded everything, subtracting for any visibility. The long arm yawned over the Leucrota as the rest of the giant pulled him fully into the Graht-Oak.

Its hair was a tangled, dreaded mess of vine and stem-like appearance. Two lids slowly rolled open, cracking away skin that was the hard texture of bark. Its face was washed with greens and browns, indiscernible from the face of a tree. It blinked once, then twice, staring at us with swirling green eyes, lit by some soul of the forest. The monster's hot breath was like standing in the swamp at high summer after the wash of a typhoon moistened everything and disturbed the toxics that sits at the bottom of bay waters.

Moss giants were protectors of Graht-Oaks and of nature, like many mystical creatures here in Valenwood were. They were the top of their duty. The head of Y'ffre's army. And they were too dangerous for anyone to approach. Even existing in these forests irked such beast, even if we were chosen as Y'ffre's people, we still carried the capacity to harm his forest despite the Greenpact. In recent times, we have proven that repeatedly. Moss giant sightings, spriggan attacks, tree sprites, and leafwisps have reportedly risen since the Thalmor took over. The forest is angry at us for what we were doing, and none of us could blame it. Unfortunately, what this moss giant thought was a peaceful place to rest now must deal with the Leucrota.

'Everyone, use your bows!' I told my team. 'Aim for his eyes, don't try to pierce his skin, you'll never be able to.'

A moss giant sighting could be a once in a lifetime event for a Bosmer. Even so, the most adventurous Bosmer could miss a sighting and live a life without. Good on those who don't ever get the opportunity, surely, it's for the better.

Larethia sprung upward into the trees, her wind magic carrying her to the high heights above. She launched a duo of _Tornado_ spells towards the giant, sending him crashing on to the ground. A roar rattled our world and cut into our ears. I saw Reiran go down clasping his hands to his ears. I spun on the creature as its colossal hand overshadowed the entire team. My arrow ricocheted off the palm of its hand, bouncing off its bark-like skin. I broke off my path to swing around the shadow of its hand as it slammed into the ground. Trees broke and cracked under the weight of the titan. I slipped two arrows onto my bowstring and pulled back towards my anchor point. My aim was true, and I let the arrows fly. They streaked towards the moss giant's eye but never reached their target. Arrows from the far side of the giant slammed into mine, causing them both to fall from their flight.

'What the…' I spun to see a newcomer running alone the giant's spine.

'Who is that?' Larethia asked, landing beside me.

Mondo launched a series of arrows from his _bounded bow_. 'There's more!'

Sitting in the trees opposite of us was a group of Mer. The moss giant ignored them but kept its focus on the Leucrota. I took a count of fifteen observing us from the tree line plus the only active one of their group. They wore leathers reinforced by Osseinium and steel. But the oddest feature of their persona was their masks. Each of them seems to brandish moonstone masks in different styles.

'I suppose your abandoned home wasn't so abandoned, Raven.' Grim slid beside us, twirling his ax. 'What's the plan?'

I smiled. 'Perhaps we could extract some information from them?' I looked towards Larethia, and she nodded in agreement.

'Not to undermine your leadership, Boss, but we seem to be a little busy!' Reiran had a point.

'Go after them,' I ordered.

I shouldered my bow and withdrew Twilight Talon. Its blade shimmered as all three runes blazed with light. I felt its stipulating power course through my being. The colossus hand came down again, and I arched my blade overhead, cutting into the giant's hand. Its hard skin broke away under my sword's bolstered blade revealing its soft flesh underneath. Even this thing can bleed.

The others continued after the masked mer. I sat in the shadow of that moss giant's hand, my world shook violently as its fingers came down in a thunderous crash. Trees fell uprooted, broken and bent from the raw power of the giant. 'I won't kill you, creature of Y'ffre,' I said. 'But that doesn't mean I won't stop you here.'

Moss giants were the guardians of the forest, like super-massive fathers of the Spriggan, their innate instinct to protect the forest at any means necessary. Sacrifice the few for the many. A few trees hidden in the guts of a Graht-Oak was fair game to kill a bunch of criminals.

I managed to pour my will power into Twilight Talon and activate its full power. A rush of power transferred into me as the power connected wielder and sword. We were one weapon ready to fight. I charged it, teeth gritted and clench tightly. The Giant lifted its hand, but I managed to grab hold. Its skin was rough and hardy, like the outer layering bark on a tall oak tree. Climbing was easy enough giving its surface, the hard shell that protected this creature would be its downfall. Its large, swirling green eye painted me with is glare as I made my way up the length of its arm. Its other hand yawned over me, threatening to flick me away like a pestering little roach finding its way on its garb. I was too fast for his massive limbs. Being this big was his undoing.

'Don't worry, big guy,' I said, spinning from under a finger. My sword stretched out to my right to provide me with balance. The violet, dark-colored magicka bolstering my blade shedding a half-light that seemed to draw on light rather than emit it. 'I won't kill you, but I can't let you hurt my team. I need them alive!'

I sprinted the last few yards and leaped into the air, heading straight for the giant's face. His mystical green eyes widened in surprise. Too slow to swat me away, too slow to counter, too slow to do anything but watch as a little black bird take you down. I twirled my body, giving me the force needed to cut. Twilight Talon cawed like a raven in the night. The moss giant fell back into the trees from the force of my strike. A roar boomed from the creature, shaking the entire Graht-Oak. I careened through the air and into the grove below.

'By the unholy sixteen!' Reiran and Mondo landed at my side. 'Did you just take down a gods-damned moss giant?'

'Remind me never to fight you, Raven,' said Mondo.

We watched the moss giant stumble away, trying to find footing against the inner wall of Shimmer Root. Blood spilled from a long gash across its nose.

'What about the others?' I asked the two.

Reiran pointed towards a masked Bosmer waiting on a tree across from us. 'We're outnumbered. They have Osseinium blades…'

The Bosmer's mask had a greenish, glass-like tint. Pure malachite. It was in the shape of a dire wolf. His leather armor was studded with Osseinium and malachite spines. I took a step forward before my comrades and aimed my sword at the assailant. 'Who are you and what are you doing here?' I asked him. The masked Bosmer said nothing.

'If you won't answer me then, perhaps, I have to make you answer.'

The Bosmer slipped a short, Akiviri style blade from a scabbard resting on the small of his back. The manner in which he drew his sword was far too reminiscent. I swallowed hard.

He was quick. Before I could make a move, he was a blur in the air. My ward didn't go up fast enough as he launched himself from his tree to mine. Reiran found the Bosmer's foot slamming against his face, sending him clean off the branch and falling below. I went in for a strike, but the wild Bosmer simply leaped and somersaulted over my blade. His agility could put me to shame. Not even Mondo's arrows could reach its target. In an impossible display of speed, he swiped Mondo's arrows out of mid-air and closed the small gap between them. Before the Bosmer could send the finishing blow, a blade of magicka cut in between them, making the Bosmer retreat several spaces.

He tilted his head to the side, eyeing me closely. 'You protect them?' He asked.

'Ah. So, you talk?'

The masked Bosmer shook his head almost as if he was disappointed.

Mondo doubled back and tried to strike him with his bow but to no avail. These people, whoever they were, were fast. Perhaps too fast. They moved like Greenpact Bosmer, and donned armor like them too. But I've never heard of a tribe that wore glass mask like them. Were they new? A group of separate clans that decided to band together to create a new tribe considering the Tam'Akar's purges? Or one just for the sole purpose of taking down Thieves of the Wood members. If it's the latter, then perhaps we could ally ourselves with them.

'Why are you here?'

He said nothing.

I commanded Mondo to hold his arrow and lower his bow.

'Tell me, do you know Augoth Thornbush?'

Still silence.

'I'm looking for him. He used to live here. Him and others.' I bit my lip. 'I used to live here as well. With my brothers… we were… a band called the Silver Crescents.'

Finally, the masked Bosmer nodded. 'But now you are…'

I took a deep breath, my eyes narrowing on their own. It was the accent. His accent was familiar, but the memory was distancing itself from me. 'Who are you?'

'We are _Rovseed_.'

'Rovseed,' I repeated. In the Bosmeris language, it meant survivor. In the literal translation, it meant a seed that has been battered, abused, and damaged but still manages to grow when planted. I turned to my comrade. 'Mondo.'

He turned to me. 'Yes?'

'Go tell the others to retreat. Leave Shimmer Root, and the fighting should stop.'

'Sure…but what about you?'

'I've got a few words to exchange with this one.'

'It's your grave then.' Mondo leaped from the branch, leaving me with the masked Bosmer.

He said they were survivors. In this world, all living beings are survivors. Tamriel is such a place that a mortal's life is cheapened by danger and societal norms of death and war and fighting. Our soils are soaked in blood. We are a people plagued by hatred for one another, so we fight meaningless wars instead of living in harmony in a world that wants us all dead. We are all Rovseeds. We are hidden behind masks that say we are happy and sad, but in the truth of it all, we are scared little children powered by dogma and senses of duty. We're pawns. Playthings of the gods ready to be moved and sacrificed at a moment's notice only to be recycled in other realms or abused by evils unfathomable to the mortal's comprehension.

He held his sword lowered to his side. A Left-Wielder. But he had no openings, even at a resting position, I could see no way for me to retrieve the upper hand off sword skill alone. Even if I used my bow to keep a distance, if he managed to close it, I'd surely be dead. Who were these Bosmer? And how were they so skilled?

In the distance, the moss giant roared.

Despite their abilities, they still deemed it necessary to protect themselves from the Tam'Akar and Monsotar's brood.

'This is my home. We didn't come here to cause any harm.'

The Bosmer shift his weight to his attacking leg.

'We don't have to fight,' I said. Deep down inside, I was speaking the truth. I didn't want to fight.

There was a focus that awakened in me when I witnessed what Monsotar did to Gleril. It made me realize how much I've was fallen since my brothers died. Since _he_ disappeared. The Silver Crescents were my world, and I lost them. Monsotar took them from me, and it was my job to stop Monsotar, but first I needed to find Augoth and Elren.

I slid Twilight Talon back into its scabbard. 'We are done here.'

The Bosmer cocked his head to the side. 'Done?'

'Yes. We are done. The Enchanter named Augoth Thornbush has abandoned this place. Call your tribe off my band, and we'll be on our way.'

There was almost a crack in his voice as he spoke. 'I don't want to leave you out of my sight…'

'There are certain things I must do in order to see justice for the people who used to live here,' I told him. 'I can't…I can't do that if the tribes stand in my way.'

You would kill me to see your ambition through then,' the Bosmer said, his tone accusatory.

I made promises, and I broke them. That was my legacy. But now, it's different. I knew it wasn't my job to protect them directly, but to see the end of the Thieves of the Wood and Monsotar. When Monsotar was dead, I would turn my sights to the Tam'Akar. I wasn't a protector—I'm an avenger, and I would see to it that the path to Valenwood's salvation was clear. That was all I was taught from the age of six. To fight in these shadows was my creed.

Fighting was too upfront; it was too much in the light. My battles would be fought in the darkness like they're supposed to. No one shall no my name, and no one shall remember who I was because that's how I wanted it to be.

'So be it,' he said. The masked Bosmer his sword back into the scabbard resting on the small of his back. 'But you shall never return to this place, Black Raven.'

'You know me?'

'I knew you, but I've lost the person you once were.'

'I…'

The masked Bosmer turned his back to me and let out a long, dragged whistle. The thunderous roar of the Moss Giant resounded through the grove once more. The clattering of swords stopped. I knew what I was wanted to do. My destiny became clear to me, no longer masked by my own shadow. This was the only way I can see Milkar's dream come to fruition. The only possible path of restitution for the people I've hurt. 'Why does it feel like this isn't the last I will see of you?'

He tilted his head back to get a final glance of me. 'For now.'

He slipped his sleeve down his wrist and forearm revealing his sigils. I froze, recognizing the straight patterns of inked lines embedded in his skin. They were like Elren's, or more specifically, they were the sigils of the Red Moss tribe. I swallowed hard, not able to consider what my next move would be.

Elren wanted to find his survivors, even if it cost him his life. Despite his quiet nature, Elren harbored sorrow in his heart and wanted to take on the system that led to the death of his family and his tribe.

'The Red Moss…' My jaws clenched. I couldn't say more.

I pounced at him, but his incredible speed allowed him to react quickly. He slipped from my grasp and let himself fall from the branch. I pushed off the bough after him, but he disappeared in the brush.

If the Red Moss survived, then perhaps I could find Elren among them.

'Leila!'

I spun to see Larethia chasing after two of the masked Bosmer. A single leaf blade in one and whirling wind spell in the other. 'Stand down!'

'What? Why?'

'We didn't come here to fight anyone. We came here for answers, now stand down!' I barked.

'So be it.' Larethia sheathed her sword. 'What was that all about.'

'Those masked Bosmer, they're the long-lost survivors of the Red Moss.'

'Gods…'

I nodded. 'They're not our enemies.'

'Raven.' Grim and Mondo approached. Reiran, Orc, Dark Tooth, and Sul close behind. 'What do we do now?'

'We follow the map Augoth left. Until then we don't harm those who would be our potential allies.' Crunched faces of incredulity painted their faces. 'I understood that you all believe I'm dragging you down into some Rabbit-dog's hole. Truth be told, this place is where I built my name. I am the Black Raven of Shimmer Root after all, but everything that I knew is all connected. We will bring down Monsotar, that is the truth. My only hope is that you all ready.'

'This was a long time coming, Raven. I see now…we all see now that you're the one to do it. We know you can.'


	33. Across the Green Expanse

_Fear has steeped Aridiil far into darkness_

* * *

Chapter 33: Across The Green Expanse

Valenwood was a place of history. From the very creation of Nirn, Valenwood became the lay place of Y'ffre, the first of the Ehlnofey. He taught the laws of nature to the population—the birds their song, the trees to grow, the Bosmer to live with the forests, and the very cycle of flora and fauna. But how does such a place of wonder become a waste bin of corruption?

The first empire of Tamriel started in Valenwood with the beginning of the Camoran Dynasty when King Eplear gathered all the clans of the Bosmer together under one unified force. This marked the beginning of the first era. The dynasty was split into twelve separated Treethanes and found a short-lived time of peace. As long-lived his dynasty was, the clans of Valenwood would never stay united. Separated by specific abilities, these clans would slowly form into tribes, and by extension, the most powerful of these tribes were known as the Royal Tribes.

Tutor Rollyn taught me just about everything. Histories, logics, arithmetic. Valenwood's history was always a question for study. The Aldmeri Dominion we see now is but the third incarnation of the alliance. Bosmer, Altmer, and the Khajiiti people of Elsweyr go back as far as the second era where the Altmer felt the younger races of Tamriel dominated the continent for far too long. It's always been about the mer's jealousy for the humans and their ingenuity. For when a certain race considers themselves greater than anything else the gods created, it is a hard-swallowed seed to see inferior races sit on the throne that they couldn't have. The Thalmor has been around since then. They laid in wait until it was the right time to gather their resources and set the world fire. It happened before, and it will happen again. That I knew was sure. The issues we see in Valenwood today is like the tide crawling out further and further away from the shore before the great tsunami comes and destroys everything in its path. Trying to stop the Thalmor was like trying to stop the tide from going out before disaster strikes. It was impossible. The only thing the daughter of Ara High-Arrow can do is lessen the blow to the people.

The Dragonteeth mountains are the longest mountain range of all Tamriel. Starting from western Valenwood, it expands across four provinces and ends in High Rock. It's an eerily quiet place, full of mist and uncertainty. Chills crawled up and down my spine. Everything was still here, yet I couldn't keep the mad shakes from my hands. Things may not always seem apparent. Where there is stillness, there could be veiled chaos. The haze hides too much. No one can see the awful that goes on in these trees.

'These woods are cursed,' said Reiran. 'Pa used to tell me to avoid em.'

'Cursed?' I inquired.

As a child under the tutelage of Rollyn, we scoured these woods for my training. Times that were always filled with dark days and darker nights. My skin squirmed, and my fingers curled around my dagger at every turn. The Clemente sorcerers lived in these parts. Bosmer tribes that mastered their magical abilities. Cursed was one thing, but a Royal tribe that uses magic as their defense was another. It seemed plausible Augoth took this path; he would have earned free passage through these woods. This should be the best route for him. The old mer may have been a bit of a coward, but he made some powerful friends when he allied with Mother. My only hope was that the Clemente would see our true nature. Maybe they'll remember me as they remembered Rollyn all those years ago.

I never liked to rely on my blood relations to my parents, but these are desperate times, and time was not at my control. With my brother and the Silver Crescents gone, Monsotar's reign was left unchallenged, and the Tam'Akar grew closer and closer to finding the secrets of my mother's power. We had no time for fear because I've wasted it all.

'What's will happen when we find this enchanter of yours, Raven?' Grim walked with his ax in hand. Smart on his part, but the anxiety and fear weren't helping the band's morale.

'Augoth was the cornerstone of the Silver Crescent's success,' I told them. 'He enchanted my sword… and Monsotar's as well. Monsotar wants him back for good reason. It's our job to find Augoth and hide him from the Thieves of the Wood.'

'Don't underestimate Monsotar's intelligence. He probably knows your plans.' Larethia always the smart one.

'Monsotar knows one day that we'll come to blows.'

Mondo shivered. 'He's not someone I want to meet swords with, I'll tell you that.'

Monsotar was trained by my mother. That revelation sent shivers through me. My mother, the hero of Valenwood, the mer everyone believed I would inherit, trained the most notorious villain in Valenwood. His terrifying abilities gave me pause, but it wasn't just his swordsmanship or his ridiculous abilities. There was something about his spirit. Only time will tell whether I'll be ready. I needed to grow my strength, he knew that. Not even Milkar, not even the Silver Crescents was enough to stop him.

We passed from the edges of the tall forests into a world of shrubbery and rock. The mountains loomed and towered. The skies were clear without the obscurity of the green roof. Not one cloud choked the blue hue, and the sun blared across the land. The air grew dry enough for our bodies to feel the difference. The Bosmer body adapted to live with the humidity of the jungle, out here in the Dragonteeth mountains, we found ourselves thirstier, less fatigued but still, we felt as if the thin air choked our breathing.

Sooner than thought, we were surrounded by tall walls of stone. The mountains whispered an eerie cry. Every step, I could lose my way with the anger built inside me. I could revert to that hateful little girl that took a path I thought my brother wanted me to travel. That hate brought me focus and power. I still had many souls riding on me.

'How much more?' Larethia asked.

I pulled Augoth's map from my pouch and read it closely. I looked around at the pass. Nothing could live here but for a goat or troll. A map across the green expanse of Valenwood could only be so clear. This one brought to an exact spot. No map in this pocket of Tamriel can do that. Augoth knew he might be the most sought after Bosmer. Could have forged such a map for me? Perhaps Elren?

From the top of the cliffside, a single stone tumbled down, hitting each ledge with the fury of the stones it smashed against before until it rolled to my feet.

I sighed and tore the map in half.

Larethia was the first to draw her blades, Grim second, then Orc. The others watched the spying peaks above them, hands hovering over their weapons.

'If I were you, I'd draw them,' I told the Leucrota. I knew what this was.

'What in the black Void is going on?' Orc asked, twirling his ax. 'Something is always amiss wherever we go.'

'The Black Raven of Shimmer Root has many enemies,' Larethia told him. 'Her enemies are our enemies.'

'I'm tired of playing the same games with you over and over.' I turned corner to corner. 'It's getting quite old.'

'Who—'

'Hold it, Mondo,' I said.

'It's become clear that our paths are destined to cross, Leila Lockharte.' The voice whispered from the sheer rock walls of the canyon.

I got a touch of frozen blood, but there was solace in hearing that voice. A feel of nostalgia twisted and thwarted. Some relevance of familiarity excited that old thirst within me. The Leucrota took a defensive formation. All surrounding me. The clanking of armor proceeded to ring against the echoing stone.

The glimmering wall of soldiers revealed themselves across the ridges and cliffside. dozens of them, mean-faced and ready to spring their trap.

'Hey, Raven. Didn't you say you killed a hundred Dominion soldiers before?' Mondo asked. 'I think now's the time to kill a few more.'

I swung around to gauge the number of bloodthirsty individuals that wanted my blood. I killed their comrades and a countless number at that. That's the thing about old sins. Although you may believe yourself to be absolved, others may not believe the same. Thus, the circle of hatred, this chain of revenge, always come back.

'What is it that you want, Aridiil?'

'What do we all want, Black Raven?' Aridiil stepped forward, golden eyes piercing down at us. 'You know just as much as I do.'

'I'm getting tired of being entangled in the machinations of greedy souls. Turn back, Aridiil.' I met his glare. 'You think your numbers will be enough for the Leucrota? Remember the last time the Tam'Akar tried to take me down?'

'Gallant words from the child that plays in the toil of vines. You tie your own knots.' Aridiil signaled to his Mer. 'You wanted to war with the Thieves of the Wood. Now you've joined them. You've solidified your place in the Book of Warrants. Forever a criminal. Your disdain for Ara's legacy has led you down the wrong path. Now you'll pay.'

The clad army began tumbling down the cliffside. More than one can count, they held their animosity in their battle cries. The Leucrota held steadfast against what seemed an impending death. It was my legend and my capabilities that held them there. This was what they truly wanted. Their teeth seethed with anxiety and anticipation. What more they hated than the authorities that held their laws against criminals like them? What more to fight the very Altmer that couldn't see they were more than a name in a black book?

'Now's the time to show me what you can do. Now's the time to show the Thalmor what it means to be a wild dog of the forest.'

Orc unleashed a war cry. The Bosmer looked more like a brutish wood orc now than a brother Bosmer. They all donned their weapons.

Blood will spill and lives lost.

On the far side of the canyon, Aridiil followed his Altmer, ripping his sword from its sheath. The black, twisted daedric weapon hued with a blood red held no shimmer and only offered war.

The first of them came with a crash. Sul was to meet them, making with gashes across the three fastest. They had no clue what they were up against, unable to understand the presence of her curse. They fell quickly. Grim slipped between the thick of them, showing them the force of a veteran mercenary. Aside from his bulk, the monster moved swift through their numbers. He overwhelmed them with skill and strength. I couldn't believe how well the Leucrota could fight, and it put in mind of the Silver Crescents. Elites of the Elite, these were my comrades.

I bounded straight for Aridiil. Two tried to stop me. I was far above wasting time with the fodder. My eyes were set on the Tam'Akar who hurt my master, who wanted to hurt my Elren and steal my mother's secrets.

This wasn't vengeance. This wasn't anger or hatred. This was curiosity. Aridiil wanted to see my strength; to compare me with Ara High-Arrow. And I wanted to see if he could.

A soldier swung his sword, and I slipped under his guard and plunged Twilight Talon into his gut. His armor separated under the temper of my blade. The other unleashed a _storm_ spell, sending lightning crackling across space. My sword grabbed it before it could connect, absorbing into the runes.

'You've got to do better than that,' I told him before he drained himself of magicka.

I threw a knife with my free hand. As he fell with the blade protruding from his neck, my eyes were already set on Aridiil.

'How is this going to end?' I asked. 'Will we fight for a bit? Will I show you that I can surpass any barriers you may think I have and retreat? This cycle will continue until one of us is dead.'

Aridiil shook his head slowly as if there were no battle around us. Our comrades were fighting to the death, yet his calm triumphed above the chaos. 'Do you believe yourself invincible?'

This Mer was my mother's friend once upon a time. They fought battles together, laughed together, and perhaps even cried for fallen comrades together. But now…now Ara is gone, and Valenwood is plunged in shadow. And now he stands before me.

'You should run, and I will spare you the shame of dying a criminal. I can do that much for the daughter of a friend.'

'Were you her friend, Aridiil the Nefarious? Or did you simply just have a common enemy? You are obsessed with my mother's power. You've gone mad trying to obtain it.' He was soaking in my words, listening even. 'You've killed for it. Valenwood has plunged into a sea of fear, and there's no one to protect it. So, what now? You wanted to watch what the Circle of Seven fought so hard to preserve burn in flame.'

' _I_ am trying to protect it!' He cried. 'You think you're helping? You think you've done it? If elvenkind fight with each other, the empires of men will only grow stronger. They will conquer and conquer until there is nothing left!'

'Valenwood doesn't need your protection,' I told him.

'If you truly believe such a thing, then you are in my way.'

Aridiil raised his sword and charged in. Our blades met, slamming into each other and discharging a ring throughout the canyon. He struck fast and hard and pouring his energy into every strike. I whipped around him but couldn't find an opening. As our two blades clashed, bouts of magicka blast shot in all directions, creating a large puff of smoke billowing around us. His soldiers laughed and cheered on around us as my Leucrota struggled with the others.

Aridiil nimbly pounced in the air, sword flailing out towards me. He was almost too fast for me to counter. I raised my sword above my head as he soared over, blocking his initial attack. As he landed on my flank, I whipped around with Twilight Talon singing against the air. Our swords met again and again. I pushed him back once, but he managed to step aside, allowing it to pierce a rock wall behind him. I ripped it out with a roar only to have Aridiil push me into the stone. His sword came in after, but I grabbed his forearm and redirected the blow. Finally, I swooped my sword in an arch and pulled down across Aridiil chest. I felt no resistance.

The tight smile Aridiil had worn up until now faded away as his robe dropped to the ground revealing black battle armor.

'Your swordsmanship excels,' he said. 'It's too bad it's wasted on a criminal.'

'In your perspective, I must be the worst kind of scum. But you're wrong. In this world, it's not what they call you, it's what you do that makes a hero.'

'If the world sees you as its dark shadow, then a dark shadow you will be.'

I shook my head. 'I don't like that.'

Aridiil let out a laugh. 'Always the rebel, I see.'

He drove his sword towards my neck. A distraction. I spun to my side, plunging myself towards his hand. It swirled with a dark magicka. The blackness stretched out towards the fabric of the world, attempting to rip it open. I intertwined my fingers with his and closed it shut. Aridiil tried to pry his hands loose, but in his first attempt, he failed. He tried again and managed to create a significant enough gap between his palm and mine. There was something more than coldness coming from his magicka. Something that was devoid of happiness but full of dread. I let go.

His spell expanded to a dark hole. A well of shadow leading infinitely deep opened between us. A silhouette formed around the hole, something massive, and then a copious amount of heat bared down on me. I jumped away from the creature as it let out a shrill, angry scream. Flames burst everywhere as it turned itself on fire. The monster held a feminine form. Its slender head bore the resemblance of horns swirling around hair of fire. What wasn't made of flame, was made of brimstone.

I pressed my will into Twilight Talon's runes, and they lit with rage. The magicka coursed through the weapon. The violet light emitted from its bolstered blade, and the hilt pulsed in my hand.

The stories told of Aridiil's flame atronach were those of magnitude. If I wanted to survive today, then I needed to fight for it. _Firebolt_ spells hurdled towards me as the atronach raised its hands. The searing heat seared my skin and heated my knives until the stung through my armor. I ran around, allowing the spells to crash around me. Stone exploded in my wake, the creature not letting up its attacks. Twilight Talon pulsed in my hands. I wound it, and raised it up against a blast of fire. The sword cut through it, dispelling the _Firebolt_ as a whole. Another and another, until conjured atronach's spells were turned lame.

'Is that it?' I swung my sword up towards the flaming monstrosity, but it was quick.

Flaming arms raised against my sword and stopped me in my tracks. I didn't allow it to counter, ceasing the initial strike and instead, pushing myself against the sword and the atronach. I propelled into the air and somersaulted overhead. Its back was now to me. With a swift lunge, I plunged my sword into its flames. The flame thrall stumbled forward, unleashing a screech that pierced the eardrums. Before I could move, it lashed back striking across my body with lightning fast reflexes. The heat of the strike stung across my torso and down my legs. I fell away, crying in pain.

It moved on me, and I didn't have the time to recover. I held my sword up weakly, my hand struggling to hold its weight. Two runes lit, and a ward bubbled around me. The atronach began slamming itself against the ward over and over. The burns on my skin, despite being new, were faint. The strike was too quick for the flaming soul of the atronach to cause any lasting damage, but damn, if that didn't hurt like Oblivion.

I stood up as hairline cracks began to form over my ward. The creature slammed itself relentlessly against it, bloodlust in its cries.

Where I'd wounded it, magicka spilled like blood. I gripped my sword. I should be able to put it down. I _was_ able to.

I released the ward, and it came straight for me. I moved out of its way and made a figure eight slash across its side. It'd slowed down tremendously. More _Firebolts_ blasted towards me but they didn't hit. Twilight Talon absorbed every bit of each spell.

There I could see it. Deep in the flame, through its soul. I could see fear. A creature summoned from the bowels of Oblivion, with no emotion, and no comprehension of itself felt fear. It snarled and griped, back towards its summoner. A raised hand revealed a brimstone stone claw sharpening at will. I raised Twilight Talon to match its challenge. 'One last go, then?' I asked it.

It screeched and charged, claws raised. I darted in, my sword ready for the oncoming attack. It struck first, outstretching its claw towards my head. I ducked quickly. A smile flittered across my face. I slipped into the atronach's defense and watched realization quiver over its hollow face. A breath escaped, a small twirl of flame ejecting from what would be a mouth. My sword plunged deep within its chest, deeper and deeper yet.

I felt the satisfaction of my win, but I knew that the real threat still lived, and he was hundreds of times stronger than any atronach.

Twilight Talon began to drink the fiery magicka. But then, something odd began to transpire. Materializing within the wound was a new fire. Different from the yellows and oranges of the creature, this new flame was deep indigo, violet, and calm like the dawn sky. I ripped my sword away, but the reaction persisted. Violet flames sprouted about, consuming the rest of the summoned thrall. Before anyone realized, it was gone. The entire thing disintegrated in the blink of an eye.

Aridiil watched from across the mountain pass. His inquisitiveness took him out of the fight. I would be a liar I said I didn't want to ask him what had just occurred. But the fight must continue.

The Leucrota were still fighting. They started to slow as the wave of soldiers were taken down. They won't last long.

'No more conjured,' I said. 'If we fight, we fight with our steel.'

'It seems your steel is a bit more wooden, and possibly far more interesting than originally thought.' Aridiil tilted his head, his eyes lay on my sword. 'How did you come to find such a weapon.'

'Torgoth Thornbush kept it in his lair. Augoth was the one that enchanted it. I'm still not sure of its potential, but it's strong. Perhaps too strong.'

'It has some semblance to Ara's _Ghost Flame_ ,' he said, apprehensively.

I considered my sword for a moment. Three runes sat just before the crossguard. I never knew what they meant, only that when each one glows a new power emerges. Magical discharges of force, wards, and an ability to absorb any form of power. But something else resides within it, something that hasn't revealed itself since that day in Arenthia, and then just when I destroyed the flame atronach, that same power returned, if only for a brief moment, it was there, and it helped me win.

'Liemo's report said you plunged that sword into the ground and a hundred Altmer died. Turned to ash as your rage flared to the highest peak.' Aridiil looked towards the peaks of the mountains. 'I once saw your mother do something extraordinary things with her power. Something told me back then that your mother could have been the one elf to seat the Ruby Throne. Her tenacity, her strength willed it.' He shook his head. 'But she was selfish. She only cared about her Valenwood. The one place most abused by the Empire of Cyrodiil. Ironic right? She fought the wrong side. I am only trying to right her wrongs.'

'I couldn't care less what choices my dead mother made. To me, she's just another deceased elf romanticized by legend. My will is different, my goals are different. My revolution is different!'

He frowned at that. 'Killing you will be the hardest thing I ever enjoyed.'

Aridiil sheathed his sword and slapped his hands together. With his hands and fingers intertwined, magicka began to gather at the center of his palms. The ground began to quake underneath our feet. 'That's impossible!' I yelped. 'You can't—'

'Can't learn Terramancy? Is that what you're going to say?' Aridiil inquired with a grin. 'Oh, Leila. You shouldn't underestimate my power.'

Yellow streams of magicka flared from his joined hands, destabilizing the entire mountain pass. Fissures began racing across the stone canyons that bordered us on each side. The ground opened enough to swallow two or three mer whole. Rock and stone, the size of trees, fell from above. I threw up a ward to protect myself from the hailstorm of boulders. Aridiil was locked in frustration as he mustered the power to complete the spell.

It wasn't mastered. He was struggling to cast the Terramantic spell. Something previously believed impossible.

I called out to Larethia who stood at the edge of a cliff. She swung around, blast air in all directions. 'What the void is going on? I thought you said only Florentine has the blood.'

'Experimentation,' I said. 'That's the only way.'

'So, wait… You're saying he _made_ himself into a terramancer?'

I nodded. 'Aridiil was known for his experiments. Esmond's mother was a victim to one of his cruel experimentations.'

'Esmond?' She asked, sharply. 'You mean _the_ Esmond?'

I nodded again. 'He's Aridiil's son.'

The mountainside came down hard upon us. I couldn't remember much of what happened after the rock fell and hit me in my head. But those eyes of Aridiil burned brightly upon my memory before the blackness overtook my mind. We traveled across Valenwood, saw the greenery of its vastness, and we were destined to fall here. He won that battle, but the war for my revolution was far from over.


	34. Elren's Return

_Aridiil didn't understand Mother. I don't think anyone understood her._

* * *

Chapter 34: Elren's Return

I awoke with a jolt. Blood slivered down my forehead and blinding me for a bit. Through the temporary blindness, I heard the scrambling of Aridiil's soldiers. Every time we meet, Aridiil's magical ability proceeded to overcome the impossible. No one except for those who carried the blood can use earth destruction magic. Somehow, his experiments gave him Florentine's bloodline power. A feat of Alchemy, not even the greats can accomplish.

My body barely budged, pain strobed down my neck and limbs. My body ached in places I didn't know existed, but I could hear them, and I could hear what horrors they were up to. Mondo's voice rang out with pleading. It's a pitiful sound a grown mer makes when asking his murderer to spare his life. We live in a hard world where death is common, and you sort of brace yourself to the aspect of dying. But when you hear someone, especially a hardened criminal, plea for his life, you start to think about mortality. You start to feel sorrow creep around your heart like a mora vine and straddle it tight. His cries came to an abrupt stop, cut away by the wet sound of metal meeting flesh. Mondo was just the first to go. They took his life, and they were going to take the others.

I managed to clean away the blood from my eyes, but the grogginess still took hold of my muscles. I've been knocked down many a time in my life, and I knew just what it took to fight that insatiable wanting to close my eyes and let sleep take me. But I fought; I was on my feet in seconds, stumbling over to my team—my leucrota. They were my adoptive family, and if I allowed them to die, then I was destined to be alone.

Dark Tooth died without protest. It was equally as pitiable when they die without the chance to plea or defend themselves. That's two now, and five left to go.

A clashing ring brought me to attention. Further back, two soldiers pounded on Orc as he struggled to defend himself against the onslaught. They laughed and cheered with every strike of their fists against his skull. 'No…' I cried. I managed to slip two knives in between my index, middle, and ring fingers. My aim was off, but I wasn't going to allow him to die. Not today. Not for Aridiil, and his twisted ways. One knife took out its target's knee. The other embedded between its target's gorget and helmet. I thank the divines for their piss-poor design. Orc scrambled towards the survivor and pulled on her neck until it cracked.

I moved as best I could towards Aridiil and Reiran. The Altmer had his boot on the Leucrota's neck. Before I realized it, my body collided with Aridiil's, and we were sent tumbling down the hillside. We crashed through a thicket of mountain brush, hindering our view from the mountain pass above.

He threw me aside and weaved a quick spell. Green rings of magicka slapped around my wrists and ankles. I struggled to pry them off, but his magicks were too powerful.

'I'll send you to Oblivion!'

'Get in line.' He stood.

I rolled away from him, but he placed his boot on my back and pressed me down into the earth. My cries went unheard. Twilight Talon was too far away for me to activate its enchantment, I had to rely solely on myself. Finally, he kicked me on to my back. I looked into the bright, yellow eyes.

'There were seven of us,' he said. 'Seven warriors with the ability to fight thousands of Daedra at once. Even the Valkynaz feared our names.' This was an age-old story I've heard a thousand times. But still, I listened. 'We fought every day on the frontlines. We saw those gates, what came out of them, and what was in them. Do you understand what that does to a mortal's soul? To peer inside a gate of Oblivion? Your mind starts to change. You start to think about how to spare everyone else from ever witnessing what we did.' He circled me. 'You see? You're just another spoiled savage that doesn't understand that. Your mother understood, but what did she do? Hide her _Ghost Flame_ from the world so that none of us can defend against another daedric attack if need be? How selfish must one be?'

'I'm not my mother!' I screamed. 'I'm not her! I'm not her!'

'Of course, you aren't.' He shook his head in disappointment. 'Although she didn't openly share her powers, she still fought for the protection of elvenkind. The Thalmor came in, and she stepped aside. Just as any loyal elf should. We protected Valenwood from the Empire. We protect it now.'

'You don't understand what she represented, so don't pretend!' I barked, fighting against the magical restraint that held me from tearing Aridiil in half. 'She was protecting her home on her own terms. She didn't have to run around ending the lives of its people that she deemed unworthy. She knew that every citizen in these forests deserved liberty, and the freedom to live as they pleased—to worship whatever gods they wanted! But you… you don't get that, do you? You and your Justiciars just want to control everything so much so that you would kill if you couldn't. You're despicable.'

He sent a sharp kick into my sides, and I cried out in horror. 'Wrong again, Leila Lockharte. I couldn't care less what savage gods you worship, or why you even eat your own people. I'm only here for power. Despite all the magical possibilities awarded to Tamriel by my people, it's here in Valenwood where the ultimate power exists! It's here where we'll find the proper weapon to fight the Empire. My Father would tell tales of the humans and their evil. They come and pillage and rape. They come and destroy without rebuilding. All they know to do is conquer. My father fought in the wars against the great Talos Stormcrown. He spoke of horrible powers the man could summon. He portrayed the will and commandment of a god. But he was just a man with a very powerful voice. We can't allow that to happen again. As of the Oblivion Crisis, his lineage of Dragonborn is extinct, leaving the Ruby Throne to be seated by weaklings. It's our time to strike if we are to take the throne. It was our time to strike when your mother was alive.'

'Is that why I'm such a disappointment to everyone? Because I didn't bend to your will? I was born with the potential to match her skill, but I didn't live up to it. I've rebelled against that, and now you've no chance to fight your war.'

Aridiil shrugged. 'With Ara's power or not, a war against the Empire will be fought. It's only a matter of time. And there are people within the ranks of the hierarchy that will stop at nothing to win. Even if that means to reopen the gates of Oblivion upon the world of men once more.'

'So why? Why do you need the _Ghost Flame_?'

'Despite the weakening Empire and the weak Emperor that rules it, it still possesses the strongest army in all history. Any weapon brandished against it will suffice in our endeavor.'

This was a conflict of morality. The Thalmor, the Tam'Akar, Aridiil… they will stop at nothing until they deemed themselves powerful enough to challenge the Mede Empire. They will sacrifice all their pawns to win. They won't stop until an elf, a High Elf, seats the Ruby Throne. I felt as if I was slammed in the center of something that was far greater than what I could've imagined. This was it. This was the cause of it all. Mother, Father, the Altmer, the Greenpact Bosmer, Monsotar and his Thieves of the Wood, and the _Ghost Flame_ culminated into one conclusion—war.

Tamriel was nothing more than an arena with the Divines as its spectators. They laughed at us from their seats. They manipulated us like pieces to a board game, cards in a deck, rings and a pole.

Aridiil strapped his gloves tighter. 'I once fought your mother in a knuckle to knuckle brawl. She won, of course. However, ever since then, I wanted to fight her again. I'm not the strongest physically, but there's something about losing to her that I cannot accept.' He collapsed the magical bindings around my wrists and ankles. 'Stand.'

I pulled myself to my feet, crunching my hands into tight fists. 'You want to go, Aridiil? You want to fight me to satisfy your need for superiority? So be it. I'll give you the challenge you so desperately want.'

He swung his fist towards my face, a hard punch. I stepped to the side and countered with a quick jab. He blocked quickly and managed to connect one to my jaw. I stumbled back, feeling my consciousness quiver near the darkness. I steeled myself at that. I knew hand-to-hand, I've trained with the best. He came in again with his forward fist, I caught it with my own and landed three good punches to his gut. He pulled free and brought his elbow across my temple. Blood trickled down from my earlier wound threatening to blind me. I put up a cross block as more of his punches began to land. He pushed me against a root wall. With some quick thinking, I dodge his last hit at the last moment. His howl was loud enough for a flock of birds to explode from the tree above. I grabbed him from behind, not allowing him to recover. I bent over carrying him with me and onto the ground with a resounding thud. With a grunt, I darted away to reset myself.

Aridiil stood with eyes ablaze with the sun's fury. He bent his neck left to right, his bones cracked with an audible pop. His leather gloves creaked under the strain of his fists. I cried out as I pounced on him. Fury raged within my heart as I poured my anger with everything I had. Aridiil the Nefarious, Captain Aridiil of the Tam'Akar, I wanted his blood. I wanted him to die right then. I felt as if our fist fight lasted for an eternity; two protectors of our code battling it out to the death.

He was a century old Altmer. A mer of great prestige and power; I was just a girl—a small girl of only fifteen springs. What was I doing here? I was supposed to be doing what younglings of my age were wont to do. Dresses and cosmetics, summer romances and heartbreaks, theatres and operas. I knew battle, war, death, life, and blood. I knew more swordplay than I did jewelry pieces.

The crack of wood brought me back to my fight. I didn't notice the tears that fell from my eyes. Aridiil's face was plump in both eyes, blood crept down gashes along his cheeks, and flesh sizzled along his forehead. What was I doing here?

I slowly let my arms fall to my side. Aridiil must've had the same sentiment because he too began to back away.

'Giving up already?'

I turned slowly to see the masked Bosmer standing on a low growing branch. He stood tall. This time he didn't don his Osseinium armor. But that mask, that hardened mask of the dire wolf seemed to pierce my soul. He landed between Aridiil and me, his focus on the Altmer.

'Don't disturb us, savage,' Aridiil told him.

'Your trap was meant for me. Here I am.' The masked Bosmer said. 'Leave her out of it.'

Aridiil weaved a spell with both hands. He unleashed healing magic, causing brilliant waves of light to explode over his body. His wounds disappeared in a matter of moments. I collapsed onto my ass. The fight leaving me. The masked Bosmer withdrew what seemed to be a Wakizashi, a sword of Akiviri make. One too similar to _his_.

'Elren?' I called. That sword was undeniably his sword. 'Elren, is that you?' The tears returned.

'Are you okay, Leila?'

'Elren…' My voice sounded weak. 'I can't believe it.'

Aridiil laughed. 'My word, the Red Moss lives!'

Elren slipped the Dire wolf mask from his face. It was him. It truly was. The love of my life had survived. He was here, and we were together once more. All the words I wanted to say before if I ever saw him again bubbled in my throat. I wanted to talk to him immediately. I even forgot the fight. I forgot Aridiil, I forgot the Tam'Akar and the Leucrota. My world was filled with that face, and his brown eyes. Old feelings resurfaced, and newer feelings emerged.

'Where have you been, Elren?' I asked him.

He was silent, his attention focused solely on Aridiil. Despite the wear and tear of his under armor, Aridiil seemed unharmed now. Even after all the battles I've experienced, after the world seemed so much clearer to me, and fighting has become nothing short of second nature, Aridiil still toyed with me.

I steeled my heart to the moment. 'I asked you where have you been? All this time, while I suffered, you disappeared until now. What about Shimmer Root? You fought me and didn't say anything!'

'Now's not the time,' he said indignantly.

There was something cold about his tone. Different from what I remembered Elren to be. His words used to be warm, reassuring. Now I felt a pang of anger lingering on his words. I wished I didn't notice it, but in this business of lewdness, you notice every detail down to every twitch of the face, the shift of the eyes, and jerk of the lips. Even as he stood before me, and I missed him so, I knew that our relationship, the friendship we had, was distorted somehow. We met blade to blade at Shimmer Root, and he didn't pause to fight me. There was no hesitation.

I felt the air change. 'I suppose I can't treat you as children no longer. At first, it wasn't that much of an issue. You were just angry little gremlins running amok like overdressed urchins…but it seems like you have a knack of garnering some serious allies.' Aridiil's face took a presence of pure severity. 'Augoth, Monsotar, and even some members of the Elder Guard, you've shown me how dangerous you and your little posse can become.' He withdrew his sword.

'Raven!'

A whirlwind swirled between us, dispersing and leaving my sword embedded onto the ground. On the ridges above, the remaining survivors of the Leucrota cheered us on. Only Orc, Grim, Larethia, and Sul stood at the precipice of where I fumbled down here with Aridiil. I gave them a nod to show my thanks and retrieved Twilight Talon. The sword pulsed as it always does when I feed my being into it. All three runes activated, creating a shrill cry of a raven as the enchantment began to take over.

Despite our display of power, Aridiil didn't flinch a beat. This was _his_ stage, we were only actors trying to survive until the final act. Aridiil was said to be weaker than Mother and Father but equal strength to my Tutor, and stronger than the other members of Circle of Seven. I wondered about the truth to that statement. I haven't grasped the maximum skill my father heralded. I couldn't fathom what Mother could have wielded with her Ghost Bow. Even though he trained me from a young girl, Rollyn only showed only part of what he could've done in the years of our adventures together. Aridiil displayed the confidence of something terrifying. This was the first battle where all of us were taken it seriously.

Aridiil bent his knees, arms straight out, his free arm was straight out, fingers pointed to the sky. His sword came up slightly to the height of his face, the daedric metal glowing with a blood red edged by a pitch black. He was ready. And so were we.

Elren and I started. We charged in, blades outstretched to our side. Elren's superior speed found him clashing with Aridiil first. The Altmer parried it easily and whipped around to block mine. Elren came in for a second strike, but Aridiil moved away quickly. With his free hand, he pointed towards me and made a flipping motion. A magical force gripped my body and sent me into the air. He couldn't hold the spell long before Elren came down on him with swift strikes and lunges. I twirled around, hearing air whip in my ears and landed on my feet.

My blood raced, and I found a smile on my face. It confused me. The exhilarating pounding in my chest beat heavy. The excitement of one of the greatest mages of the Oblivion Crisis taking my skill seriously making it all worth it. I wanted to win, to beat him with my swordsmanship. I'll pour every ounce of skill my training and experience has granted me.

Aridiil was prepared for me when I pounced in again. We shared quick exchanges before he moved on to Elren's advances. It went on like this continuously for minutes without any of us showing any signs of letting up. This was a battle for the ages. I was apprehensive, though. He didn't use much magic as one would think. We pressed attacks with swords, and he continued to counter them with his own. A mer with his caliber of magic should have used far more magic.

I set myself to attack but froze midway. When I say froze, I meant that figuratively and literally. My body stopped at some realization, but the realization was because my skin realized the air had become cold. Far too cold, even while being in the mountains. Elren kept pressing the strikes. Finally, I realized the reason for the minimal use of spells. Even as he fought sword to sword, even as he used a spell here and there throughout this exchange, Aridiil has been weaving a spell all this time.

'Elren get back!' I roared. 'Get back now!'

Elren doubled back, flipping hand to feet and retreating from Aridiil.

'There are many master spells in my arsenal. Many as in thousands. You understand that, don't you?' Aridiil said.

He held his left hand to the air as if he was holding onto something heavy. As he released it, the world began to hiss and howl. The ground began to turn white and icy, and before long, the entire grove was like a slice of winter tundra. The trees turned white, blanketed with frost and snow. The ground was like a frozen lake you'd find in Skyrim. My toes grew numb, my skin tightened, and plumes of smoky breath escaped Elren's and my mouth with every breath.

Elren stepped in front of me. 'Leila, stay back.'

'What? No, I can't let you take him on alone,' I told him.

'It wasn't a suggestion,' he said.

'Good, because then I would have to consider it.' I stepped around him but found that finding footing on the ice was nearly impossible. 'Shit!'

Elren began walking forward as if the ground was the usual soft, warm soil. I looked down at his feet to see a faint blue hue.

'Magicka?'

'It's the magic of the _Caidane_ ,' He explained. 'Armor of the Green Shamans.'

I grunted. 'Have any to spare?'

'These are the last.'

With a single finger, Aridiil began pointing in odd directions. With every jab, spikes began to jolt out from the ice with the attempt to impale Elren. Elren was quick and nimble, slicing away the ice spikes as they jutted out towards. He feet moved so fast, it seemed he was sliding across the sheet of ice that covered the ground. In some moments, he was.

Elren was suspiciously adept in battle. His skill matched mine, if not better. Of course, he was far more flexible than I was, his wild upbringing adapted him to the twisting trees of the jungle. This could be all due to his ability to adapt to any form and any opponent. The training Elren completed with his father, before he died, could not have garnered all the proficiencies on display. The boy had an aptitude for fighting. A miracle in battle prowess.

Aridiil clasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and interlocked his fingers. The levels of magicka emitting from his body created a sort of pressure on the atmosphere around us, winds stirred like a typhoon, whipping harshly against my face. The very air stung my face in random places as if being attacked by a swarm of insects. A raging ball of fire churned around his hands. With a strobing spasm of light, several of the balls of fire flew straight into the sky. Simultaneously, stalagmites of ice shot from the ground with an impaling force slowing Elren's advance towards Aridiil. Or so it seemed. At that moment, it seemed as if nothing could stop Elren's momentum. The Akiviri steel cut the ice clean away as soon as the sprouted to kill him. The fire spells lingered in the air, just above their heads. Elren finally made it past the ice, still charging with great velocity awarded to him by his armor and the sheet of sleet underneath him. The two fighters clashed swords, sending sparks exploding in all directions like an outburst of swarming torch bugs in mating season.

As expected, Aridiil gestured his hand straight down, manipulating the _fireballs_ and sending them curdling towards Nirn. Towards Elren and me. I reacted quickly. I raised my sword high and unleashed Talon's first rune power, sending an arching strike of violet colored magicka crashing into the _fireballs_. An explosion of flame and heat flared against the entire area. Ice went from water to steam right before my very eyes. Even the steam didn't last as a cloud of water vapor lifted into the heavens.

Aridiil used magicka to assist in his agility and managed to jump cleanly into the air and retreat a good distance.

His chest rose and fell, silky, blonde hair lay plastered over a wet forehead, glistening with sweat. Overall, Aridiil looked wild, but his eyes were focused and menacing. But there was something different; I couldn't detect that same condescending glare of his when he looked at me. Instead, there was a hint of minor admiration in his eyes. It was as if I'd done something to make him proud. Never mind what, it was just peculiar someone like him would feel any sort of pride for surviving a fight with him. There was simply too much ego in his heart, too much disgust for a race he deemed lower.

I couldn't let the moment distract me.

'Real battle experience surely is the best teacher, isn't it?' Aridiil stood up straight and sheathed his sword. 'I've no need for this now,' he said, speaking of the black daedric blade. 'This time, I will fight you with all my might.' He turned his full attention to me. I knew something very bad was about to go down. 'Leila, I'm sure you know all about what I'm capable of.' Aridiil lifted a single hand as streams of lightning began to radiate from his palm. The power emitting from him was so brilliantly terrifying, it seemed as if everything else around him darkened. The contrast was too great. 'How is Rollyn doing?'

I growled. 'I've grown stronger since that night.'

'Have you now?'

'Leila, stand back,' Elren demanded, pulling back his rear foot and raising his sword to his cheek. 'You need not to fight him. He wants me and the _Rovseed_.'

Aridiil cracked a smile. 'If it weren't for Milkar Lockharte, I would have wiped you all off the face of Nirn, but I must admit that you Bosmer are a tenacious race of elves.'

'Elren, I just wanted to say that I know the truth about the Red Moss. I've spoken with Rindiel, and he told me everything. He may have fallen, but he isn't the evil person we thought.'

Elren said nothing. He began making his way towards Aridiil. One step after the next, he started out walking, then continuing into a light jog, then finally a full out sprint.

Aridiil clasped his hand around the master shock spell and unleashed it against the Greenpact Bosmer. Lightning struck out from his palm and in an instant, collided with Elren's sword. The destruction spell caused a ripple in the very space around it. Just like lightning that crackle across the sky during a storm, thunder followed. The sound was so deafening that it forced me to flinch as if I'd been hit with a boulder. I gritted my teeth towards the ringing in my ears. My heart beat frantically, pumping more adrenaline than my body had time to process. When I opened my eyes, Elren still advanced towards Aridiil, the ground around him was charred with a clean path trailing behind. Elren's sword seemingly split the entire lightning strike in half. There was nothing like the speed at which Elren could move.

Aridiil charged another and fired again. I had my doubts that the Leucrota could follow a fight at this level and understand what was going on. Elren was moving his sword arm faster than Aridiil's _Lightning Storm_. Each time the lightning Aridiil's hands, Elren's sword grabbed it and dispersed to the area around him.

Elren was on him on after the fourth firing. Mages always had the advantage over swords wielders. For one, spells can be cast from miles away and hit their intended target. If a mage is powerful enough, he could replace thirty, forty, or even fifty ground soldiers with no magical ability. Which is why the best of the best swordsmen carry enchantments on their weapons and armor. Some minor, like making so that a blade never dulls, or never fall from your hands during a fight. Some enchantments can be so powerful, one warrior could leave an entire army of soldiers as a blanket of ash.

I wasn't going to stand there and allow Elren to fight the Altmer all by himself. As the exchange magic spells and sword blows, I darted in from the flank.

The exchange kept up like this. Elren and I came in with our swords, but somehow Aridiil countered every last one of our strikes. No matter how clever we thought we were, he was simply better.

In the wake of the fight, I saw at the corner of my vision that the Leucrota grew closer and closer. My friends watched me as I fought for my life. Magicka was a finite thing, and although most people could not garner it within themselves to perform spells, there are others that have a bottomless pit of power. Aridiil was one such person. Spell after spell he held us off with no sight of growing tired. Elren and I were tiring, and it showed.

Aridiil switched his approach, instead of being on the defensive, he began pressing attacks. With a quick joust of his magicka, I found myself underwater. I looked around, but all I could see was the blurred lines of the world around me. I felt Twilight Talon slip from my grasp, and I began clawing at the bubble of water surrounding my head. My breath escaped me. Water filled my lungs, and I began to drown. I looked over to Elren to see that he was in the same predicament.

I heard muffled clashing and saw that the Leucrota engaged. I wanted to scream at them to retreat, but I couldn't muster the strength. There was no more air in my lungs, and the water began filling me. Darkness edged my vision, and consciousness began to escape me. With one final, defiant roar, I screamed until my world grew dark.

Some miraculous happened. Aridiil's water sphere exploded, and a strong gust of air filled my lungs, retching water out my mouth and nose. I coughed, and more water came. When I could finally pull myself up, Aridiil stood before a dark vortex, his eyes bearing holes into me. He shook his head before jumping into the portal and disappearing.

'What happened…' I tried to ask.

'He escaped!' Larethia ran towards me. 'He got away, we're safe.'

'I—' I couldn't find the words.

I looked over to Elren who was still unconscious. 'Save him,' I told them.

Grim growled his disapproval. 'Why? It was his moss giant that killed—'

I gritted my teeth. 'I said to save him!'

Orc spat and scurried over to where Elren laid. Orc placed his hand over Elren's chest and pushed hard. My friend exploded in a fit of coughs, vomiting water towards his side.

'What the Oblivion is that?' Larethia said, balancing me on her shoulder. 'He's an enemy.'

'He's no enemy,' I said. 'He's one of the Silver Crescents.'

Larethia scoured, but I ignored her. She brought me over to Elren. I collapsed beside him, laying my head on his chest. It was good to hear the beat of his heart, to feel the rise and fall of him as he took in breathes. Elren was alive, and that's all that mattered to me at that moment. The boy that I met one fateful night in Elden Root lives and the love I grew was reemerging within me.

'Elren…' I said softly as I ran my hand through his wet hair. 'Elren, I'm here.'

He reached up with one hand and clasped the back of my head. He pulled me closer to his face and planted his lips to mine. We stood like that for what felt like years, but it didn't last long enough. I wept over him, and I didn't care who watched.


	35. The Beginning of the End

_We fight our hardest when we believe the fight is near. Even if we have no plans on winning. It's that impending death and fear of what comes after that tells our souls to go over the edge._

* * *

Chapter 35: The Beginning of the End

Death is never expected when I fight. Arrogance was something that was innate in the fiber of my being. When the blades flail, and the fires thrum in my muscles, luck is always at my side. I may have almost met my demise. However, my fight against Aridiil reconnected me with something dormant. The Leucrota sat in silence on the far side of the avenue as I laid my head against Elren's shoulder. They seemed to stare in discontent.

'They're angry,' Elren whispered to me.

'Why wouldn't they, Elren,' I replied, shifting upward. 'You attacked us.'

We buried Mondo and Dark Tooth at the side of the mountain. After, we found Reiran alive, but he was paralyzed from the neck down. He said it himself that it's no way a Bosmer should live. To not have the full control of your body was nothing short of torture. Larethia was the one to put him down, and he went easy and painless. We buried Reiran beside the others.

'Our numbers dwindle, and I'm afraid that they won't make it to see my revolution come to fruition.' I sighed. 'I'm going to fail them like I fail my brothers and the Crescents. I don't want that to happen again.'

'Death is a part of this life.'

I looked back at Elren. He's grown a bit taller, his demeanor, his temper, it all seemed a bit colder than before. Those eyes of him, however sharper, still held some hint of warmness within them, buried and hidden behind a Bosmer that has taken enough. I explained to him the reason I walked with the Leucrota, how they've become my new band of brothers and sisters. And I explained to the Leucrota just who Elren was and that whatever bad blood may have formed between them, was just a large misunderstanding. We were all on the same side of this war.

I filled my lungs with the crisp mountain air and steeled myself. 'What now?'

Larethia trudged her way towards Elren and me, anger raging behind her eyes. 'Move aside Raven,' she said, her leaf-bladed sword in hand. She branded it against Elren.

'Larethia stop,' I told her. 'He's on our side.'

'Is he?' Her knuckles whitened. 'He set that moss giant on us. We lost one of our own!'

'He only did what he thought needed to be done. Any of us would do the same thing.' In truth, I was worried that Elren didn't see us as allies.

'Monsotar and the Tam'Akar are my enemies,' Elren said in a low growl.

I could feel the pressure of their tension rising in the air. 'Listen, you two,' I held Twilight Talon between them both. 'We can come together and find a middle ground.' I turned to my old friend. 'A lot happened since you disappeared, and a lot will happen in our future. I was Monsotar's prisoner and was forced to work for him, but I've worked against him all this time. The Leucrota is my new band, and although it may seem like we do Monsotar's bidding, we are planning a coup d'état against him.'

'So, who's going to pay for what we lost? Who's going to avenge the members of the Leucrota?' Larethia waved a hand at the last remaining Leucrota. 'This is all that's left, Raven! This is who we have to fight Monsotar's reign.'

I shook my head and placed a hand on Larethia's sword arm. 'I understand, but this is a war. There will be causalities! We wait for Rindiel to gather more forces within the Thieves of the Wood.'

'You've allied yourself with Rindiel?' Elren snapped.

'I told you that I discovered his secret. He did what he did to protect _you_ , Elren.'

'I didn't ask for that!'

'You didn't have to.'

'Now what?' Larethia interjected angrily. 'Your enchanter isn't here. This whole job is botched, and our time was wasted.'

'The Tam'Akar and Monsotar have been married into a deal, but they've fallen out. The _Ghost Flame_. We can use that to destroy them both. Monsotar was supposed to be the protector to which the Greenpact Bosmer looked to, but he uses them as tokens, sacrificing them to the Tam'Akar for pardons. Monsotar helps the Treethanes turn a blind eye to the Tam'Akar's purges of the wild Bosmer. Only there's a pattern to Aridiil's inquisition. He isn't working in the confines of their mission but on his own terms. For my revolution to come to fruition, we have to reveal the underworld to the people of Valenwood.' Elren and Larethia watched me with eyes of credulity.

Aridiil and his Tam'Akar, and Monsotar and the Thieves of the Wood were created because of the system of corruption that has been set in place over the one hundred and fifty years since the Oblivion Crisis. This system is what Milkar wanted to uproot and replace with his own. In a way, you could say it was his revolution. I told myself that my path was his path, but things have changed. What I wanted—what I needed to end it all. The people that sit in the highest seats of Valenwood turn a blind eye to the dark dealings of the shadowy forces that drive this province deeper into chaos. The people are suffering, they cry up from the pits of the Void for me to save them. Look at it as a network as vast as the arteries shared by the trees, it's closed off from the world in vine and roots, but as the people cry "save us," I will uproot all that they know, forged new trenches with the fires of my heart and the Ebony of my blade, and I will watch them die as they try to escape.

I've come into my destiny full force, different from what Milkar wanted. I'm no liberator; no light in the shadows. I'm _the_ shadow, and with a dark fire in my hands, I will show Valenwood that cruelty will match cruelty.

Larethia sheathed her sword. 'What do we do now?'

'I'll keep the Leucrota as far away from Monsotar as possible,' I said.

Larethia shook her head in disapproval. 'He'll hunt us down.'

'No. He won't. I'll head back to Centaurcrass and meet with Rindiel. There, I'll start our revolution. We're going to end this.'

'Even if you believe we're ready, we're not. You said it yourself, Raven. We need an army. Whatever marauder or footpad trickles out of the Thieves of the Wood won't be enough.'

I turned away from her and kept my voice low. 'Leave that to me,' I told her. Yes, I've come into my destiny full force now. My father wanted me to join the Ranger Guard and become an adherent to my mother's path. I renounced it. But the Divines had a weird way of pulling their strings on our lives. There was a quake in my voice. An undying thirst set within me.

It seemed as if Elren already knew what I was setting my mind to do. 'I will fight with you.'

I nodded. 'And you?'

Larethia gritted her teeth, but in the end, there was one truth she knew. I would sacrifice her, I would sacrifice them all if I had to. She knew she could not win against me. 'So be it.'

* * *

The carcass of the Iron-Bark tree was once the Lockharte's legacy. Now the trees lay dead. During the Oblivion Crisis, the Lockharte farmers lost these trees to the hordes of Daedra that poured from the depths of the Deadlands. Although just the base of was once a great Graht-Oak that produced the metallic wood, Centaurcrass was anything but abandoned. I wondered if Monsotar knew what he was doing when he chose it as his base of operations. Despite not half of what it once was centuries ago, Centaurcrass was still the largest thing in the Grove of Bent Grass. It loomed over the rest of the grove as a dark shadow against the greatly bruised night sky. The moons floated to the south as the sun blasted its last bit of light from the west. Twilight set upon the world.

The Thieves of the Wood's base was awfully quiet, unusual even for a place of thieves and criminals. I walked confidently down the routed pathways until I came to the shallowed hull entrance. No guards. Usually, there would be Bosmer of the brutish kind sitting in front of Centaurcrass' entrance, grilling anyone that would return from long jobs across Valenwood.

I stepped into the vestibule where three of the Woods members sat around a rough bolder sharing out payment for whatever job they'd just completed. Upon my arrival, they eyed me closely. My hands involuntarily drifted to a knife on my bandolier across my chest. It always served well to be careful in situations like this. I kept moving on as one of them gave me a reassuring nod.

My travel through the Graht-Oak went much the same. My skepticism kept me on edge, but many of the members and associates acknowledged me willingly. Perhaps I've earned a bit of respect during my tenure here. Monsotar's wing was dark and empty, but the ringing of metal told me that he was in his fighting pit. I made haste.

The pit was a small personal pen of sand and stone. Moonlight shed down towards the center, but the sides were illuminated but wiry vine that grew along the bark of the walls. Several thieves surrounded the area watching the fight within the pit. There, in the center of the pit, was Monsotar sparring with his son. The boy was running several strike and lunge drills as his father parried or blocked them away. He wore similar armor to his father, leather trousers lined with a scabbard for his sword, a belt knife, and a small pouch for other sundry chattels. Over a bare torso, was a sleeveless vest lined with silver stitching.

Montedor was focused on Monsotar's body movements, moving in only when he thought his father let his guard down only to be knocked away easily.

No one said anything to me.

With blinding speed, Monsotar swooped in with his sword and tipped his son's blade down. Montedor tried to parry but his father's strength was too great, and he lost grip of his sword's hilt. The sword skittered across the sand. Frustration melted over the boy's face as he trudged over to his sword.

'Your body is still weak,' Monsotar said indifferently. He pointed towards his various henchmen. 'He's to push the rock for twenty laps.'

'I'm tired!' Montedor exclaimed.

The strike came fast but blaring, it would have been easy for me to block, but for a boy as untrained as Montedor, he didn't know what hit him. Blood projected from his mouth and his lip split open like a pea. Monsotar showed no outward anger. The thief that ran over to the two picked Monsotar up by the collar of his vest and urged him towards a large stone twice the boy's size.

'Fifteen,' Monsotar corrected himself. 'Then you can eat.'

Both Montedor and the Woods member nodded.

Finally, Monsotar turned his attention on me. 'My Young Raven, it's good to see you at last.'

'Monsotar,' I addressed him. I turned from him and walked back into his chambers.

I hated this place. No matter how much I tried to forget what he did to me here, the memories would never leave. He broke me. He took more from me than anyone. My cries still echoed through the dining hall, I could still smell the roast of my friend's flesh, and even feel his body against mine. I could almost gag at the thought. This time, there was normal food across the long table. Roasted Jungle Fowl, Basilisk neck, Venison, fish steaks, and a series of foreign fruits and vegetables. Barrels of wine lined the far wall and jugs of it sat at every third plate.

'I presume the job didn't go so well?'

I scoffed. 'It was a trap,' I said taking a seat in front of an empty plate. 'But I suppose you knew that, didn't you?'

Monsotar brandished a small letter, its seal broken. 'I received word that the war council will convene a summit at the Memorial of Summoners. They mean to discuss what actions they must take against me. This is the first time they've decided on such a thing, and I must admit, I am a bit worried. These… dignitaries are the best of the best in Valenwood, and my influence can't penetrate this one. Aridiil is a part of this council, however.' Monsotar grinned and steepled his fingers. 'That Altmer is something truly sly, deserving his name "the nefarious." He means to find Augoth and bring him to the summit.'

'He wants to be appointed at the front of the action,' I said. 'It could mean he has alternative plans.'

'Precisely.' Monsotar cracked his knuckles. 'And his target?'

'The rest of the Royal Tribes.' My heart trembled at that. 'This time he'll have the approval of the hierarchy.'

Monsotar nodded. 'And with the Ranger Guard at his back, he'll systematically kill every last Greenpact Bosmer.'

I narrowed my eyes. 'Why do you care what happens to the Greenpact Bosmer? They've been nothing but monetary value to you, now you think they're worth saving?'

Monsotar shook his head. 'Oh, my dear Young Raven. Someday you'll understand what it means to be a player on this board. You must never let your opponent win… at whatever the cost.'

I gritted my teeth. 'You're such a bastard…'

'Well?' He inquired, ignoring the jab. 'Are you up for the challenge?'

The war council. I knew it for what it was. A gathering of players; my father's board. I haven't seen my father since that night, and I wondered what would happen if we came face to face again. Would he see me as a lowlife scum unworthy of the Lockharte name, or will he revere my skill and the name I've made for myself? I sighed and painstakingly stood. There was nothing else I could do. But Monsotar had presented me with an incredible opportunity. I needed an army to fight him, and I needed to stop Aridiil. The pieces were falling together. 'I'll go.'

'Oh?'

'But I won't go for you.'

Monsotar raised an eyebrow. 'Ah, I see. So, it's time, eh?'

I didn't say anything.

'It's quite early, but I suppose this was a long time coming. You're braver than most, I must say. Those who oppose me, don't come outright like you have. They squat in the dark and conspire, then they attack. Either they raise up a band of like-minded miscreants, or they try to assassinate me. No one has ever opened up like you, Black Raven.' His eyes sharpened, and I could feel the pressure of power radiating from him. It poured off his being like a flaring soul trying to break free of a soul gem.

I watched him closely. Although he seemed calm, I could see he was seething, ready to cut me down where I sat. Finally, I grabbed a leg off the food and began to eat. I picked a few more things off the table and had myself a feast. My nerves were set a low smolder. The food had grown cold, but the act of eating gave me something normal to focus myself. 'Do you think I can defeat you?'

'No one can.'

I looked at him incredulously. 'The Elder Guard, Father, perhaps even Tutor Rollyn?'

Evil burned in those eyes. 'I was trained by Ara of the Ghost Bow,' he said. 'No one in Valenwood can touch me.'

'Look at yourself,' I said. 'You're drunk on your own legend.' I chuckled. I made the same mistake.

Monsotar sat back in his chair. 'I'm proud of you, my Young Raven. Truly, I am. You've grown a lot. You say you're ready to challenge me but are you?' He stood. 'I think you're still a confused little child. I don't think you're ready.'

'You've known what I was after. What I've been gathering within your own home.' I wanted him hurt, and I would have that. I would bring down the walls that protected him for so long. 'I would have my army, my victory, and I would see you burn.'

Monsotar kicked his lips. 'Such an unquenchable thirst. If you were to sit in my seat, Black Raven, I would fear for this world.'

'You see, that's what you get wrong.' I could only look at him with disgust. No longer with fear. 'I don't wish to replace you, that isn't what the Black Raven is. I _will_ destroy you, I'll kill you, surely. But my goal is just that. To end your system and to make sure no one like you ever returns. Even if it were Milkar or even my mother, I would end them.'

Monsotar nodded. 'And you are, without a doubt, the person to fulfill that path.'

There was another shift in the hall. The tension between us faltered a sort, and the hardiness of Monsotar's persona softened to a mild simmer. He looked at me with eyes of pity, and something else I couldn't quite discern. 'What?'

'I'm Monsotar Handseed,' he said, 'my goal in this realm is to assure that people understand that man, mer, and Beastfolk like me, and the people I employ, are needed throughout the land. There will always be corruption in the political climates of Tamriel, and there will always be a need to put a curb onto that corruption.'

'You—you're the cause of it all!' I growled.

Monsotar shook his head. 'Somewhere along the way, I may have lost my vision, Leila. We all do. That included your brother, and it includes you. Your mother, however, seemed as if she'd be different. She was the shining pillar of light that was supposed to end all of this. But there was something she loved more than Valenwood. It was something she couldn't give up.' Monsotar raised a goblet of wine to his lips and sipped slowly as he sat back down. 'It was her children.'

To the far back of the chamber, a leaf-veil whooshed open, revealing Montedor, Monsotar's son. The boy had dirt marked across his face, his vest torn in some place and patched on others. A sword clanked at his side as he tried to keep it dragging across the ground. He held the same eyes as his father, a deep-seated need to pierce whatever he looked upon. His hair flared wildly unlike his father's neatly combed shoulder-length locks. But their resemblance was uncanny. I wondered about the boy for a few moments before I understand that someday if I were to spare Monsotar and the Thieves of the Wood, that boy would continue its legacy.

'Pa,' Montedor said striding over towards the dinner table. 'I'm ready to eat.'

'Finished already?' Monsotar asked his son.

Montedor bowed humbly. 'You were lenient today, Pa. Is it time to eat?'

Monsotar nodded. 'Fine.'

Montedor acknowledged me with a nod. 'Raven!'

'Hello, Montedor,' I said with a faked smile.

Montedor made himself a plate and sat directly across from me. I couldn't help myself but hate the youngling despite doing nothing wrong. Merely being raised by the most hated man in Valenwood couldn't have been his fault. It was his fault he was fathered by Monsotar no more than it was my fault Ara of the Ghost Bow was my mother. But here we were, making our way to step into our parent's boots.

'So, are you here for another job, Raven?' Montedor asked. 'I really wish I could go on jobs too, but Pa says that's not what we do.'

'You should do what you want to do and never let anyone hold you back. Not Monsotar, not anyone's expectations.'

Montedor glanced his father nervously then looked down at his food. 'I want what Pa wants.'

I smiled softly. 'And what does Pa want?'

'To burn…' Montedor said at the edge of hearing. 'Burn the rot…'

I stood up from my seat, hand on the hilt of Twilight's Talon. The tension in me began to rattle again, my nerves flared, and my mouth began to dry. I came here to drive my point home, and whether or not I succeeded didn't quite matter. Today was the start of something that was in the making since I rejected my destiny and forged my own.

'You're ready?' Monsotar asked.

I walked out of his chamber without saying a word as they continued to eat their dinner. Leading from Monsotar's dining hall was a small room fitted with a single table. An array of weapons was laid carefully from end to end. The Silver Crescents' weapons. I ran my hands over Ceril's lightning blades, my brother's Twin Tanto blades, and Esmond's sword. I never knew what Monsotar did with Milkar's Pondus, but the sword was carved from pure Iron-Bark, so I assumed it might have burned away with my brother. Sadness overwhelmed me at that moment. I had to let them go.

It was then I fortified my resolve to avenge them all, and I will. I'll see that their souls were laid to rest and when I do, I'll ensure their weapons mark their graves.

* * *

I stood on an overvale overlooking the vast main hall of Centaurcrass. The hall was stubbled by snugpods and Rye pods. The living quarters for Monsotar's nightblades, an entire army under his wings. Some of them will be mine. Some of them hated their leader as I hated him. They moved around in the squalor of their corruption, uninterrupted by the pain they've inflicted on the people they were supposed to protect—out of fear or loyalty. The innermost drive within me keeps telling me to change it and find a different way. I won't ignore it much longer. I will pull up the roots that have embedded itself in this soil for far too long, and I will leave it open for something new to plant itself. Whatever it will be, I will tend to it.

'He's not going to let you leave without trying to kill you.' Rindiel pulled me from my thoughts. 'What are you feeling?'

'Confusion,' I answered. 'I am cursed, Rindiel.'

'I hear you found Elren.'

Tears came to my eyes, but it was no use trying to hide them from Rindiel. He took my hand and spun me around. I nudged him away. 'I thought I lost him,' I said softly. 'I thought he was gone.'

Rindiel kissed me, and I felt my lips tingle as if lightning transferred from his to mine. 'What was that for?'

Rindiel shrugged. 'To absolve you of the guilt.'

A commotion broke out below, creating a well-enough distraction from the current situation. I turned to see three nightblades striding through the avenues of snugpods with their intentions on me. They made a show of things and were armed to the teeth. The one towards the center only wore pauldrons of bone and resin with no torso armor, revealing a bare muscled belly. A blue-hued sword hung from his belt. The two that took his flanks were larger than him in size but less the gravitas. They wore full leathers and boiled leather capes. Right flank held a large bow in his hands, and a hefty quiver of arrows hung on his back. The other carried a scythe. The long reaching weapon held a long sickle blade at the end of a bent handle as big as him.

I turned back to Rindiel. 'There's a summit at the Memorial of Summoners in three days' time. I'm going to go there and do what needs to be done. Monsotar's role in Valenwood is fluid, and it can take anyone to control the forces at work under him. I want you to be the one to seat the throne of the underground world. When I gather what I need, I will return, and I will wipe everything clean for you.'

I strode to the ledge and stopped. I wasn't sure what I was doing there, but I felt it had to be done. I quickly turned back to Rindiel and planted my lips to his. I didn't feel much for Rindiel, but I knew that Rindiel represented everything that Valenwood needed. He sacrificed everything for his home; he tore his soul in half just so that the damage to our home was minimalized. The knew that in order to save this province, the one person he loved the most would hate him to Nirn's end. So, I kissed him because he was the embodiment of what we should strive to be.

The ledge took me, and I flew down. The air whipped in my ears and the force sunk my stomach. My cloak flapped in the wind. At that moment, I was finally free. I landed in front of the trio of nightblades.

The one towards the center bowed. He was their leader. 'Hello, Black Raven of Shimmer Root. It's finally nice to meet you. I've heard much about you.'

I chuckled. 'That's funny, I've heard nothing about you.'

The nightblade grinned. 'Then allow me to introduce myself. I'm Kheatan of the Acid Spitter. You can say I'm Monsotar's most loyal member. That's what this boils down to, doesn't it? Loyalty? I've received some great information on you, and I must say, I'm quite surprised one of Monsotar's Crows would be so arrogant as to think she can bring down the Thieves of the Wood. Perhaps if I bring him your head, I could be your replacement.'

'Loyalty?' I inquired, stifling a laugh. 'Is a prisoner loyal to a guard the guards him? I was never meant to be loyal, I was merely a prisoner biding my time. Monsotar knew that, and he knows that I'm going to come for him and this entire fucking squalor. He knows I'll win. He'll fight, but he'll lose. So, step aside, Kheatan, unless you want to throw your life away for no reason but your "loyalty."'

Kheatan narrowed his eyes but said nothing. I withdrew Twilight Talon. His sword glowed an ominous jade. A fully malachite sword named the Acid Spitter. I knew it to be one of Torgoth's enchantments. I switched my sword stance to a defensive. Getting struck by the Acid Spitter even once could be the end for me. Its enchantment can erode flesh as fast as fire can burn it.

The scythe wielder was the first to come at me. Jumping through the air and slashing down at me with the sickle-like blade. I lunged into him, but he merely used the hook of the blade to spin around with my sword as the swivel point. He spun around and attempted to kick me. I caught the Bosmer's leg between my left arm and ribs. He counted with another swing, but I managed to duck in time. He was skilled with the weapon, but he wasn't fast with it as you should be. I struck out with my sword and severed a tendon in his foot. The nightblade collapsed to the floor, but that didn't stop him from continuing the fight. Or, at least, trying to finish it. He lashed out with the scythe, but I parried it and took out his other foot. He dropped the weapon and tried to plea, I didn't allow him. I plunged my sword through his mouth, severing the top half of his head at the jaw.

The nightblade with the bow took a step forward and pulled an arrow from his quiver. I activated two runes of Twilight Talon's enchantment. He pulled to his anchor point, arrowhead steady aimed at my heart. In a single breath, the archer spun on Kheatan and released his arrow at his chest. Kheatan had no chance to stop the high-powered projectile as it pierced his body and exploded out the other side with so much force, a spray of blood and innards found itself scattered on the ground below, painting it a bright red. I stared absently at the scene before me, half impressed.

The nightblade archer turned to me with curled lips and a furrowed brow. 'This better be worth it, Raven. I was only a few years from retiring, but I can't see Valenwood going down the sewer.'

'What is your name, Nightblade?'

'Sia Brim-Rose,' he said. 'I'm loyal to Valenwood, not that evil incarnation of a Bosmer.' He chucked his head back towards the exit. 'You might want to get out of here, there are hundreds more like Kheatan ready to take you apart by the limbs.'

'And what of those like you?' I asked the brawny Nightblade.

He grinned and chucked his head backward. 'Rindiel has been doing plenty of recruiting.'

'Well then, Sia. Your first job as a new member of the Leucrota is to gather every friend you can and escape Centaurcrass alive. Is that understood?'

'Loud and clear.'


	36. Worms in the Squalor

_Never underestimate an elf with nothing to lose._

* * *

Chapter 36: Worms in the Squalor

Arenthia wasn't a place I wanted to return, but it was necessary. In order for my revolution to be realized, I needed an army. The Leucrota were strong, but they weren't enough. Not against a force of power that was Monsotar. Even with those who wanted to rebel against him, it still wasn't enough.

The forest that surrounded Arenthia was known as the Cyrodiilic Woods, despite it being Valenwood's forest. Mother fought in these woods and in this city, and I could feel the power that reverberated from those times even a century and a half later. The air was dry here but thick with a magic resonating from the trees, the ground, and the animals that dwelled within. Some say it's because daedric blood soaked the soil here, so the presence of the horde still floats in Mundus.

I traveled for a day and a half on elk back from the Grove of Bent Grasses. Arenthia loomed in the distance, its wall dotted by great trees that saw the histories of Valenwood, Elsweyr, and Cyrodiil come together into one multicultural city. I tapped into my latent power here when I confronted Liemo and Andalf of the Tam'Akar and killed a hundred Dominion soldiers. It was a turn for the worst—the epitome of power that I can harness within Twilight Talon.

That day still strikes hard within me, even now, even as I grow closer to the gates. My brown elk pulled our carriage hard over the dried cobblestone road. Arenthia sat on the edge of the River Strid. It was a large basin of the rich and the poor and how one group fed into the other. It was a direct reflection of the Fourth Era, and the interaction of the Empire and the Dominion. My first destination wasn't the council hosted by my very own father, but the squalor of the residential district. In this new Valenwood that I was born in, corruption and poverty ran rampant thanks to the treethane's malfeasance of the Thalmor rule. Reaper's March was once completely obliterated and transformed during the war against Mehrunes Dagon's forces, you may still see some remnants of cities and villages too squandered by daedric desecration that the forest refused to swallow back into Y'ffre's grace.

In fact, Arenthia was so important to me, despite what happened in the extraction of Torgoth, despite being the very sight my mother earned her legend, it was the home of the Lockharte politicians and where Faengal Lockharte and Leisanna Straight-Shaft delivered the Ranger Guard into existence.

Finally, and without further hammering myself into my family history with this forsaken city, Arenthia's wall came into view. Reaper's March always had this odd arid air about it that was completely different from the muggy and humid conditions of the southern jungles. Arenthia had it more so, sitting on three bordering provinces known for their diversely different climates.

I decided against leaving my steed at a stable house, which was largely a human tradition. A true Bosmer's steed does not need a stable or protection from thieves, instead, as wood elves, the imprint we leave on our animals are permanent until we release them. I traded for a slow-moving pack mule to drag the carriage. I kept a skin-tarp to hide the treasures underneath.

'Hold it, hold it.' A guard stopped me before entering the subdivided gates. Only it wasn't a usual city guard, but a soldier of the Ranger Guard. It was the first time seeing one since coming across my cousin when we chased Arian the Brave. Only in the Ranger Guard, their warriors weren't called soldiers but guardians. And this particular guardian held the rank of _Shaft_ , just one rank higher than the lowest rank. 'What business do you have in the city?'

His eyes were sharp with a warrior's intent. Guard work was far being even the lowliest of the Ranger Guard, but I supposed since the war council was to commence soon, the Ranger Guard had taken over. Their leathers were much like mine only boiled and dyed brown, and possibly stronger. His standard twin shortswords hung on opposite sides on his waist. Both made of leviathan bone like all the Ranger Guard's were. 'I'm making a move to Arenthia, sir. All the way from Elden Root.' I waved towards my carriage. 'This here is my belongings.'

The _Shaft_ raised an eyebrow. 'You're a bit young to be traveling alone, and why is someone your age traveling with this much?'

He moved over to the bonds of vine I used to tie the skin-tarp over the treasures. I'm not an elf that took half-measures. Security around the city was going to be tight, and I considered all the possibilities that could land me in some deep underground dungeon for the rest of my days. 'Isn't it precarious to think someone weak just because of their age?' I asked the _Shaft_. He stopped and glanced at me incredulously. 'I mean, yes, I may be young but aren't you as well?' I grinned at the baby-faced Ranger Guardian. 'You're only but a Shaft rank. So that could mean you're about fifteen, sixteen at the latest?'

'That's true.' He moved his hand towards the bonds.

'That means that normal Bosmer your age can't even dream to amount to your skill level…well unless they're Ranger Guard as well, am I right?' My words didn't steer him away from the carriage.

'Your point?'

'Point is, I'm young, I get it, but I'm much like you,' I told him. 'I'm young, but only in body not in mind. I can take care of myself in these woods.'

'Is that so?' He pulled away the tarp with a sharp tug. The knots gave way easily enough, and the Ranger Guardian looked down at a carriage bed full of wood. 'Foreign?'

I nodded. 'I'm the daughter of a carpenter and wish to build my own house here in Arenthia. The only place that would allow foreign wood to be used as supplies for such a thing.'

The _shaft_ sighed and threw the tarp back over the Iron-Bark. Luckily, in its raw form, Iron-Bark is indistinguishable from foreign yew. He slapped my mule and told me to get going. I abided willfully.

I gave him a wink and whipped the mule into motion. He returned it with an annoyed expression. Even the elite can be fooled.

The residential district was a layered grid of tight streets and tighter alleyways. As you travel further from the center of the city, the degradation began to reveal itself. As the sun-washed trees and stone turn to mossed over brick and blackened fungi, the truth was as clear as day. There were parts where the sun didn't reach, and the poor were dying from severe starvation or some virulent disease. Thalmor rule allowed this, changing Falinesti's laws on the lengths the Treethanes can go. Rampant nepotism, coin spent on serving the Aldmeri Dominion, and simple mindless slavery, our so-called hierarchy has given up on Valenwood. The slums weren't always this bad, however. The Bosmer was always a giving people. No one would go hungry, and everyone would have access to cures to various diseases. But since the Thalmor absorbed Valenwood to rebirth the Aldmeri Dominion, the concepts of rich and poor were introduced to Bosmeri culture. The separation of Greenpact and newer traditions became ever-present.

In the slums hidden in the shadow of Arenthia's wall, the people went about their business just like everyone else in the city. In this place, new faces always meant trouble or fresh meat for the vagabonds and bandits that sat in the darker corners. I pulled my mule to the stop as the shadows around me shifted and danced. They closed in on me with reluctant delight. I may have only been a girl of fifteen, but it was odd to see someone such as myself wondering around these parts with a carriage full of goods. Although I didn't quite look like the adolescent princesses from Wayrest, it doesn't take a desperate thief to try for a mark. And these were desperate thieves.

I leaped from the mule and dropped in a slop of mud…or shit, whichever one, it was brown and wet and smelled.

'The highly prized rebel has returned to the squalor for a bit of that old Arenthian hospitality?'

I looked over at the skin-and-bones Bosmer. 'Sultel, you're looking better than ever.'

The Bosmer grinned. 'Just robbed me a new pair of leathers,' he said. 'I see you've earned yourself a new set as well. You're in better shape than when we first met. I'm happy you survived—that means my end of the bargain was upheld. What about yours, Black Raven?'

'And I'm happy the _Loose Lung_ and _Dermorot_ hasn't killed you all off.' I nodded towards his Worms creeping in the shadows. 'As for our deal, well…' I whipped the skin-tarp off the carriage bed, revealing rows upon rows of raw Iron-Bark.

'Oi! Ya promised us a mountin' of gold. That ain't no mountin' of gold,' said the Ohmes Khajiit with a severe case of _Dermorot_ eating at his face and some parts of his neck.

Sultel raised an eyebrow and chucked his head towards the corner of the cart. I hadn't noticed the youngling Bosmer so close to me, he could have pulled knife across my legs if he wanted to. The boy picked up a single log and skipped over to Sultel. The gang leader studied the Iron-Bark for a moment before his eyes widened with glee. 'Oh, Raven, you shouldn't have.'

I shrugged. 'A promise is a promise, and I'm done breaking them.' I allowed the Worms to lead the mule pulling the carriage away. 'But Sultel…I have to ask you for another favor.'

Sultel's rosemary green eyes glanced me for a moment. 'Anything for someone who doesn't forget the little people.'

'I need your help.'

* * *

The Sultel's eyes softened for a moment as he weighed the log in his hands. 'I heard what happened to Milkar and the Silver Crescents. Things weren't supposed to be like this. I—'

The candlelight quivered under a sudden breeze, bouncing the shadows around cracked zirth stone walls. Vines stretched over the length of the floor, years and years of growth, covering almost every inch of space. In the far corner, an untidy pile of books reached the ceiling causing an avalanche of papyrus. Sultel leaned back in his chair, lifting his skeletal hands to his face.

'You know him, don't you?' He flinched at the direct question.

Sultel laughed and tipped his tankard off with a thick, honeyed drink called mead. 'Knew him? There was once a time I called him my brother.'

'Your brother?'

'There were four of us,' he began, 'the original band.' He laughed again. 'First and foremost, there was Esmond Flowers, son of Symmone Flowers of the Night Sword. Now he was a damn good thief and a good Bosmer. I can't believe he's gone now. I was their scout, of course, thanks to my suave speechcraft and ability to spot a mark from a mile away.'

'Or thanks to your worms.'

Sultel shrugged. 'My worms are everywhere, and they see everything. There isn't anything I don't know in this realm.'

'What about Monsotar, and the other—'

'Gaziel,' Sultel said abruptly. 'Monsotar's brother and fiercely loyal to him.'

I felt the inevitable scowl creep over my face, but I didn't bother hiding it. 'Monsotar has a brother?'

Sultel nodded. 'Gaz doesn't stay in Valenwood for longer than a fortnight at a time. But if something were to happen to Monsotar, he'll come after you for sure.'

I leaned back and crossed my arms. 'So, that's it? You four made a hell of a band.'

Sultel raised a sickeningly bony finger. 'There was one more… She was our leader, but it never felt like it. What we had with her was better than any guild master. She was like a parent to us, a tutor, a mentor… she was—'

'My mother.'

'You know?' he asked.

I sighed. 'I know my mother trained Monsotar, and she was the progenitor of the Thieves of the Wood. If she trained Monsotar, then she must've trained the whole lot of you, right?'

The sharp angles of Sultel's face couldn't hide his heartache. 'Monsotar took her leaving the hardest. He loved her more than anything in the entirety of Mundus. The hurt he felt could break a dragon's heart. I would be a liar if I said it didn't hurt me as well. We were a family, but the reality was that Ara hid us from the world, we weren't her real family, so when she decided to drop us here in Arenthia, it was like a stab in the back. Eventually, we began to get over it, and we began to go our separate ways. I stayed here in Arenthia longer than intended, Gaziel decided to travel Tamriel, and Esmond was eventually approached by Ara's firstborn. And Monsotar? He plummeted down a spiraling void of hate and dissent with the world, even after trying to continue Ara's hidden legacy.'

'Does Monsotar know you live here?'

His eyebrows arched. 'He knows my eyes reach to all corners of the province. He knows I watch him at every turn. He knows I've weakened in my years, and he's only grown stronger.'

There was a time, before my birth, where a world that was black and white started to blur and warp. Lines erased, and the differences between what was good and righteous can't be discerned to what is wrong. I didn't just have to end Monsotar, I had to end what he represented. But what he represented was the festering shadows that we _all_ have in our hearts. A beast hidden behind walls that would take the damnedest world or hurt a mortal can receive. Was it right? I didn't know for sure, but I know Monsotar wasn't right. I wanted to, no, I needed to stop Monsotar. This world is a product of the birth of the fourth era, and it's spiraling faster than anyone realizes. Shadows beat on the edges of the horizon. Something deep and throbbing, ready to be unleashed upon Valenwood, Tamriel, no the very fabric of Mundus itself.

To think Mother knew some underlying secret that started out as a simple seedling and will grow to take over…everything. It made my blood boil because she gave up on it. She gave up on being a hero. She gave them me. 'How many?'

'Whatever do you mean, young Leila Lockharte.'

'You said your worms are everywhere,' I said. 'We… I need you, Sultel. If you came from the ilk of Monsotar. I know you're more than capable of—'

'Hundreds,' he said.

'Hundreds in Valenwood?'

'In Arenthia.'

'You—'

'In every city, in every town, my worms see all.'

I didn't see it before, but now I do. Sultel was out of place here. He was a minimalist in every definition of the word. A Bosmer that cared for elvenkind through and through. I've made an enemy of this new world we saw around us. I forced myself to hate it, but in the end, it wasn't the answer. By any stretch of the imagination, we all knew that something had to change, and it's that that created my goal—my revolution. I've prepared for a long time to clear my path. This was the stage. Everyone I've met has contributed to me being set on this path. Monsotar and his nightblades, Sultel and his Worms, my brother and the Crescents, me and my shadow.

'If you need my help…' The sharp angles of Sultel's face became blurs. I couldn't see his face clearly through my eyes. The world stopped. 'My worms aren't warriors, they're scouts…true thieves…' My breathing felt straddled as if the air sat just before my lungs and couldn't enter beyond that. I looked down at my squeezed fist, feeling the struggle it took to keep the quake from my body. Strain. Heavy breathing. 'Are you feeling okay…Raven…'

I tried to steady myself, but the task was far too hard.

'Breath, Leila.'

'I can't—I.'

I was on the floor before I knew I was falling. My chest drummed with a heavy message. My eyes burned in my head. Was it poison? Was it the air? A disease? Was I dying? I felt a cooling sensation slip across my forehead. The cooling of the wind brush against my lips. Everything grew dark, my limbs too weak to move. 'Why? Why am I like this?'

I heard voices all around me. 'What happened?'

'She's panicking,' I heard Sultel say. 'The culmination of stress and pain has finally paved its way to her heart.'

Panic? My mind raced. The revelation that my mother was nothing more than a rising shadow over a world where she should have been its light hit like a war hammer swung by a mighty orc. It shouldn't have made my body fail, not like this. Not after all I've learned in the past six months. Mother was the light to my shadow. I didn't want to become her opposite, I wanted to fulfill a dream, her dream, in my own way. I have been plagued all my life by what Father wanted me to become, by what Rollyn trained me to become, but a simple adolescent rebellion evolved into a fight for my home, for liberty, and for culture.

Under the pressure of my tightening chest, I heaved air into my lungs. Heartache can kill an elf; kill a dragon even, but for a girl that has experienced more life than most, it might just send me over the edge. I had a war looming over me. The loose ends Ara High-Arrow decided to neglect was left for me to tie. It wasn't fair.

I felt the upper part of my body lift up, and a wetness spring over my lips and slip easily down my throat.

'Clean water,' Sultel murmured.

'I must be a mess,' I admitted haphazardly.

'You are not weak, child. But this is a new feeling for you. You've volunteered to carry the burden of the Bosmer on your own shoulders. That is a task that twisted Monsotar into the iniquitous soul he is today.'

I saw Sultel a bit closer than I did before. The wood elf was once healthy, strong—one of the best illicit criminals in Valenwood, and yet, he gave that burden up. If I did the same, would I end up like him? And if I continued would I become the second coming of Monsotar.

Sultel smirked. 'You need not to worry, Raven. The wealth you have given us is more than enough to gather my worms.'

'Are you… strong enough?' I asked, stumbling over my words.

The question seemed to have amused the old thief as his grin grew longer. 'I may look piss poor, but one doesn't create the network of the Worms without strength. What you are calling for is a pure fight, there's nothing secretive or enigmatic about it. An all-out war settled on one battle. Thievery and banditry are all well and good, but sometimes a straightforward fight is all that is needed.'

I stood, feeling new strength step into me. 'The council—'

'Will begin in a few hours,' Sultel said. 'Let's show up in fashion, shall we?'


	37. Memorial of Summoners

_One day, I'll tell the story of Ara High-Arrow in full detail_

* * *

Chapter 37: Memorial of Summoners

The Memorial of Summoners will always be known as the place where Black the Khajiit sacrificed his life to close three oblivion gates by thrusting himself into the realm of the Deadlands. It was him, not Mother, not Father, not Rollyn, and certainly not Aridiil that entered the great gate that ripped open Arenthia and destroyed the sigil stone that allowed a horde of Daedra to wreak havoc across Valenwood. Sure, Mother was the one who held them back and kept them at bay when they threatened to consume all of Valenwood in a vast avalanche of evil, demonic destruction.

A century and a half have passed since the Oblivion Crisis. Arenthia has been rebuilt, and the Memorial of Summoners has replaced what was once a gargantuan rift on Mundus. The Memorial of Summoners, a tree surrounded by the city. The streets spiraled in from all corners and made an extra sharp roundabout with several crosswalks leading into the garden that surrounded it. Any other day, it would have been a walk in the forest to stroll through the garden and into the memorial as if I was any other tourist. Today was quite different. Ranger Guard were everywhere, some visible and some hidden. The Ranger Guard possessed mer in their ranks that far exceeded anything I could do.

Night had fallen, and the tree's glittering leaves swayed in the night air like stars dancing in the heavens. I drank a gulp cool air, letting it fill my lungs and awaken my body. I was setting the stage for my revolution. When I reveal myself, I will also reveal to all Valenwood who I am, and who I'm ready to become.

I slipped into a separation of two branches, an opened broad sunvent was wide enough to slip through easily and lead me into the inner chamber of the Memorial. Sweat slipped down my forehead and brow, trickling onto my chin. A drumbeat in my ears, giving me pause before I realized it was my own heart against my chest. My hands trembled with anxiety, fingers itching to move for anything that would come in my way. Water pooled in my mouth, swishing with every flick of the tongue. I squeezed out onto the opening of the exit and peered into the chamber.

There they were. Every Mer and Beastfolk that commanded the forces of Valenwood and Elswyr. Every last one of them with the eyes of a predator.

Father sat at the helm of an oval slab table. It wasn't just any table, it was a massive monument known as the Table of Forged Names. Inscribed across every inch of the marble was every mortal that lived through the Battle of Arenthia. Faeden Lockharte looked every bit the same since the day I left home. His eyes held an intensity, a dark misty green with two pinpoint pupils, brimming with power. His brow was rigid, deep seating his eyes. We shared the same nose, but Milkar and Aranwen inherited his jaw. He was packed muscle, wide shoulders and fairer skin than his children. Handsome, calculative, stoic, intimidating, and dangerous were few words that could describe him. The rest of his company, I knew by face or purely by their reputation.

Mano the Elder sat in the first adjacent seat from my father. He was a High-Arrow Elder, my great uncle. As old as he was, those wrinkles didn't do much to deter the pure wisdom and strength of his persona. Our family's jeweled, emerald eyes sparkled in the light just like mine, just like my brothers' and, of course, mother's, and just like his son, cousin Crestel High-Arrow, who sat just across from him on my father's left. I knew Crestel to seat at the council. He was, after all, the first seat of the Elder Guard with his father being the eleventh seat.

My heart nearly jumped through my throat and out onto the floor. Aridiil and Florentine sat together on a far seat next to another Altmer. This Altmer wore armored robes. An eagle-shaped pin sat brazenly on his left shoulder, similarly to father's that was in the shape of two antlers around a tree. Ambassador Angedaen of Sumerset—I knew that name well. That Altmer was the Thalmor's favorite Ambassador here in Valenwood. Aridiil wore an air of interest about him, a far different disposition he held in fights against me in the past. Second Lieutenant Florentine was finally in the flesh, it took great efforts to hold myself from putting a knife between her eyes.

Further down the table, another cousin sat. This time on Father's side of our twisted family tree. Tuuton the Bow was the second seat of the Elder Guard, despite still being in active service to the Ranger Guard, he was offered the seat because of his renowned abilities with a bow. He was even better than Mother. The third seat of the Elder Guard occupied membership in the Council as well, sitting across from the Altmer. Prince Basdal Camoran was only the fifth heir in line for the throne and a damned good Ranger Guard. He was once the Watchmaster for a short time and led three successful campaigns into Hammerfell. And speaking of Watchmaster, the newest addition to the highest office in the Ranger Guard was here as well. He looked quite young, only five years my senior, maybe. The Watchmaster rank was a humorous thing. A Watchmaster could be as strong as Crestel, or as strong as me. Weak? Never weak. But their power varies. It was a fluid position.

Two _Bows_ stood at the Watchmaster's side. The _bows_ were the highest rank under the Watchmaster, and these two were the best of the best. They commanded legions, or in Valenwood's Ranger Guard terms, an _Archery_. If you were to compare with actual Imperial Legion ranks, a _Bow_ would be a general, while the Watchmaster would be the Imperial Legion Commander.

'Greenpact Bosmer lay in wait and wonder if the very people who said they would protect them will be the ones to destroy them,' my father said, looking down at the occupants of the Table of Forged Names. Aridiil and Florentine shifted in their seats uncomfortably as the others looked their way. 'The Bosmer who still follow the old ways are of no threat to the Thalmor Regime! I cannot understand why they would need to be the target of any of their inquisitions!'

'Calling a cease of the inquisition is not my order to give.' Aridiil looked Father in his face. 'Neither is it yours or the Countreeve's, Faeden.'

'You speak of inquisitions targeting the… dreadful side of your culture, but I have indisputable evidence that you, Ambassador, have used offhanded groups to carry out machinations of the hierarchy.' That distasteful little smirk marked Florentine's arrogance. 'To protect the savages against us is to break the laws of the Dominion.'

'Florentine the Terramancer. You cannot accuse me of such practices if the slaughter of my people persists!' Faeden exclaimed. I could feel the anger radiating from his words. If Father truly was protecting the Greenpact Bosmer, I would have known about it. My path wouldn't have been as hard.

Prince Basdal wrapped his knuckles on the stone of the table. 'Listen here, Altmer. The Countreeve has given the decree that anyone who would lay their hands on the Greenpact Bosmer would have their heads removed from their shoulders. They are of protected status. And even if it wasn't in decree, I wouldn't mind cutting the head from a murderer of my people. The King of Alinor—'

'And you believe this has anything to do with the king, do you?' Asked Florentine. 'You, a prince of the Camoran throne in Falinesti, are no more than a cyphered monarch with no power. The adults rule here, child, not some fifth-in-line heir believing he can write truths of state.'

Basdal scoffed. 'I've come to this council as the third seat of the Elder Guard, you damned golden-back swine! And what power I do have allows me to slowly slice through that thin, golden-skin on your neck with my belt knife. Do not underestimate the Camoran line!'

The council exploded into a cacophony of murmurs and louder arguments. These fools that control the machinations of Valenwood were all simple-minded in their thinking. I do not doubt they were the reason Monsotar has grown so far in power.

'Quiet it down!' Cousin Crestel slammed his fist down. He seemed to be one of the sensible ones. The murmuring sputtered out. 'Everyone let's calm down. Nothing will get done if we just yell at each other and point fingers of accusations. I agree that the Tam'Akar's inquisitions are illegal and must stop, that is fact. But we must also realize that using criminal guilds will only incriminate them, making an inquisition legal.' Crestel eyed the council. 'Why not have Lord Nethilvere target elves like Monsotar and the Thieves of the Wood?'

'What the boy says is true,' Mano the Elder said, his voice as old as his face.

'You only agree with him because he is your son.' Ambassador Angedaen rolled his eyes.

Another explosion of arguments persisted. These mer of battle experience were nothing short of despicable. They all wanted to lead, and no one wanted to listen, no one wanted to understand. This wasn't a council but a match to see who can bark the loudest nonsense. Their faces, downtrodden and sad, were the faces of warriors that have already lost control. Where are the heroes? Where are the mer of valor when everything has gone wrong?

Mano the Elder was my mother's uncle, but I failed to see if he had the same gravitas she had. That air of legend that surrounds the High-Arrow prestige wasn't absent about him, but he couldn't amount to Mother's legend. 'Silence! I said quiet this insolence at once! You damnable souls can squabble about whatever else it is you like, but Valenwood is plunging into the Void! I am a Bosmer of experience! I know that what has happened in the past cannot be changed. You have all missed the point of this summit. We are not here to argue about the past, we are here to discuss the future, and what we leave behind for the later generations to come. I have outlived many fools that have sat in the very chairs you all sit in now. They were all fools like yourselves! You do not listen, you do not learn, you merely argue and get nothing done. Aridiil the Nefarious, for an elf who has fought alongside my niece during the Oblivion, you have become nothing short of a failure. You believe to be the savior of the Bosmer, but you have become their enemy. You target the Greenpact for their worship of gods strange to you, then you blame them for using groups of Monsotar's brood, that is your justification. We as Bosmer can no longer allow such a tragedy in our forests. Don't you understand? Or perhaps you don't. It is like my son says, the Royal Tribes are going missing! We cannot place the blame on them for taking refuge if they do not feel safe in their own home. Parts of the forest has burned; our brethren burn. The Tam'Akar's job should not be targeting Wild Bosmer because of simple spiritual doctrines but targeting criminal guilds and banditry on the roads that the Thalmor has built.'

Crestel nodded and folded his arms in agreement. 'Arian the Brave was the best of us. He was a seat of the Elder Guard and a trusted friend of mine. He wanted to stop this inquisition, but we didn't act. We allowed our people to die.' Crestel turned to Aridiil. 'To die at your hands, because of _your_ laws. He turned to Bosmer like Monsotar, he became one of them! We must ask ourselves why? Why couldn't he turn to us instead?'

To everyone's dismay, and even mine, Aridiil spoke again. 'Arian the Brave was a traitor and died a traitor's death, did he not?'

A pang of guilt crossed me. I killed Arian because he worked for Monsotar. He thought it was the best way to stop the inquisition on the Greenpact Bosmer. It wasn't any different from me, was it? I was backed into a corner when Monsotar destroyed the Silver Crescents and killed my brothers. I was put in the same position I killed Arian for. He had no choice.

'My point is that Lord Nethilvere's policing was too severe. None of us were brave enough to look in on your inquisition and told you that you've gone too far.'

A Khajiit enamored in armor began to talk with purrs and low growls. He was flanked by three Cathay-Raht. The Beastfolk were monstrous in their size, towering the Bosmer that sat around the table, and they even grew taller than the Altmer. 'Khajiit has experienced the same issues you have all face. Tam'Akar comes with decrees of law, and destroy before decree can be understood. It has been many moons since Do'ava has expelled Tam'Akar from our precious warm sands and thick jungles. Even under Dominion law, we have experienced peace without Altmer interference.'

Aridiil motioned to quiet the Khajiit, but Faeden told him to continue.

'If Do'ava was Battlereeve Faeden, Do'ava would do what he must for the wellbeing of his people. From one Battlereeve to one Battlereeve.' He punctuated his statement with a nod towards Father.

If anyone felt the heartache of seeing their people purged tribe by tribe, village by village, it would be the Khajiit. The Justiciars rained down on their homeland in ships, destroying almost everything in their path. If the Bosmer had it bad, then the Khajiit knew a little something about pain and suffering at the hands of an inquisition.

'As far as I'm concerned, we weren't supposed to choose sides on either of these fronts,' said the Watchmaster of the Ranger Guard, Erandil Elm-Pool. 'We are all apart of the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor has brought us all together to help one another as the Empire suffer from their admonished weakness. Crestel High-Arrow, you were supposed to capture Arian before knowledge of his defection reached the people. Don't you understand the chaos that could ensue if bands across Valenwood knew that Arian the Brave, tenth seat of the Elder Guard joined the likes of Monsotar Handseed? The job was supposed to be silent, but it wasn't. You didn't kill him, it was someone else who got the better of you. Just who was this person anyway? I would like to know.'

Crestel rubbed the end of his chin and narrowed his eyes. 'Leila Lockharte,' he said. 'To what purpose she hunted Arian down, I do not know. Milkar, Aranwen, and Leila conspired to kill him, and they succeeded. There's nothing I could have done.'

The revelation took many by surprise. Eyes began to meet my father's dangerous stare with daring courage. Faeden Lockharte's face remained a blank canvas for one to paint their fears on. He was not without his temper, and his pride brought his severity to the utmost extremes at times. The mention of his children could mean many things for the people sitting around him. He could unleash his anger alongside his power, or he could remain calm. No one liked to chance it.

I scanned the faces around the room as they shuffled in their seats. It's true. I killed Arian the Brave. I killed him without remorse and out of anger. I thought he was the enemy. I was wrong.

Faeden moved, and the room grew silent. 'It is true,' he began, 'my children have been trying to upset the balance here in Valenwood. It is some sort of rebellion that I have ignored for a good reason. But their rebellion is no more than a pebble tossed in a grand lake. Arian was sentenced to death anyway. It's a good thing just another criminal killed him and not a member of our Ranger Guard.'

Just another criminal?

I leaped from my hiding spot, sword in hand, and landed on the Table of Forged Names. I glared Father in those intense eyes of his. 'Just another criminal?'


	38. The Criminal Watchmaster

_I lived with my own demons before Monsotar. Until he showed me that his were bigger and worse._

* * *

Chapter 38: The Criminal Watchmaster

The table was riddled with names of the heroes that fought in the last battle against the forces of Mehrunes Dagon. A large slab of carved stone, the Table of Forged Names earned its title. My father and all his cohorts stared at me in awe. There was that brief moment of surprise before the Watchmaster's bodyguards, Bow Syklen and Bow Yesime charged upon the table. They brandished their shortswords against me, but my eyes never left my father. The table was larger than I thought, and I considered it underfoot.

I pushed my sword back into its sheath and raised my hands in surrender. 'Father,' I said. 'The father that believes that his children's outcries are merely a pebble's throw in a lake. Did you know, Father? Did you know what happened to Milkar and Aranwen? They're dead. Monsotar murdered them and burned their bodies right in front of me.' I slipped my cloak over my head to reveal my armor and the various weapons hidden underneath.

'Everyone! Everyone set your weapons aside!' Crestel demanded, standing from his seat.

'What in the darkest part of the Void is this?' Bow Yesime barked.

'Who let her through?'

I turned to Ambassador Angedaen. 'You would find your security a little preoccupied, Ambassador. It would seem Arenthia has a little worm problem.'

'Leila, what is the meaning of this?' Gallant Cousin Crestel looked at me with earnest concern.

I shrugged indignantly. 'You squabble like birds over a berry while Valenwood suffers and bleeds. I suppose, seeing the state of which Valenwood is in, none of you can ever accomplish much.' This time my eyes sat on dearest Uncle Mano. 'I've lost family, my brothers, my friends… because of each and every one of your inability to act.'

'It isn't that easy, Leila,' Crestel said. 'It isn't—'

'You better have a good reason why you've trespassed into this summit, girl. This is no place for a child like you.' Watchmaster Erandil stood finally, his jaw clenched.

'You say I'm but a child yet…I'm the only one to stand against Monsotar and his tyranny. I'm the one that will take his head.' I started to walk towards my father. The Watchmaster's bodyguards charged me, and I whipped to the side. A quick elbow to the face sent Yesime flying off the table. Syklen raised his sword, but I grabbed onto his wrist and elbow and threw him to the side.

'I said halt your advance!' Crestel exclaimed. 'This is the Battlereeve's daughter. If you harm a hair on her head, you will have to answer to him and me.'

'Thank you, Crestel.' I nodded.

'Leila Lockharte, this is a high crime, you're lucky none of didn't just kill you before you landed.' Crestel protested. 'However,' he considered my father, 'I have a hard time _he_ didn't notice you.'

'I commend her bravery,' Treethane Fert chuckled. 'Very interesting, indeed.'

Misplaced anger towards the one person that wanted to act. This laughable summit was nothing but a childish conversation. These heroes, so full of steel, so full of power, are losing control by the day.

'None of you accomplish much because you don't want to,' I told them. 'The very enemy of the Bosmer sits right in front of you, and the best you can manage is a slap on the wrists.'

Of course, I spoke of Aridiil, whose intentions was not to carry out the will of the Aldmeri Dominion, but his own selfish desire to possess the _Ghost Flame_. I pointed him out easily enough. My father raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not sorry to say, but Aridiil has not just been purging the lives of the Royal Tribes for crimes against the Dominion but killing off certain tribes peculiar to a pattern.' Aridiil and Florentine said nothing. 'The Red Moss, the Raw Tooth, the Parikh, and eventually, the Clemente. You all know these names I speak.'

'We're not going to listen to this…this…worthless rogue, are we?' Watchmaster Erandil gritted his teeth and waved at me all the while bravely looking my father in his eye.

Faeden closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

'You've neglected it for years, Father,' I said. 'Mother's power is highly sought after by individuals at this council. Even the Elder Guard knows.'

Mano began to nod. 'It is true.'

Finally, my father spoke, but it wasn't the word I'd hoped spill from his mouth. 'You've brought nothing but disgrace to the Lockharte name. I should have you arrested and hung for treason.'

'Treason?' I asked, the muscles in my face tensing. 'Treason? Oh, dear Father, but I plan to redeem myself in the best way possible.'

I twisted my body to face the entire war council head on. 'I plan to accomplish what you were all too cowardly to do. I will end Monsotar's reign.'

'You best leave, thug,' Erandil scoffed. 'You'll need an army to do that.'

I laughed heartedly. 'You mean like the one you command?' That shut him up. 'I killed Arian because he gave up. He was one of Monsotar's Crows—one of his top thieves—so I took his life. I ripped his throat out with my bare hands.' I looked down at my hands as if the blood was still there. 'Monsotar keeps the hierarchy in check. He controls Valenwood, not you, not the Silvenar, or the Countreeve, _he_ does. That is why you haven't done anything to stop him. That is why the Tam'Akar, with all their power, conspire with him instead.'

'Why are we allowing her to speak?' Someone roared. And in an instant, the entire chamber erupted in an uproar once more.

'Quiet down.' Faeden crossed his fingers. 'Where is your evidence of this…claim?'

'I've made friends with the survivors of the Red Moss.'

'The girl lies, Faeden,' Aridiil said. 'She has joined with Monsotar. She is one of his top henchmen. She's as traitorous as Arian.'

'Father,' I began, pleading. 'Many things have happened since I left home. It's true, I have garnered the powers of the darkest depths of Valenwood. I've become infamous in this life, but I've only done so for a certain cause. To follow Ara High-Arrow's goals _my_ way. If you all cannot see that; If you all will not help me defeat Monsotar and burn his vast grip on our home, then I will do it myself!'

I withdrew Twilight Talon and aimed it at Watchmaster Erandil. This got a reaction from Father. Laughs erupted, amused murmuring began, and retorts followed. 'I challenge you, Erandil Elm-Pool, for the seat of Watchmaster.'

Treethane Fert was of a class of warrior politicians. Despite his life in the Ranger Guard, in his retirement, he was offered a seat in the Elder Guard before becoming a Treethane. 'Young girl,' he said, shaking his head, 'you cannot challenge the Watchmaster for his office, you must be of the Ranger Guard to do so.'

Uncle Mano expressed his disagreement with a violent shake of his head. 'No, no, my Treethane. She merely has to be a name of notoriety, trained by any warrior recognized for gallantry by the Ranger Guard.'

'But she will never make the vote!'

'Who has she trained under?'

'What does that matter?'

Bicker and bicker. Some of these warriors could take my head in a matter of moments. But here they were, acting as if they were children. It's true, even if Fert didn't know that even if I were to challenge the Watchmaster, approval for such a challenge would need to undergo a vote. It's a good thing that a vote would need to be conducted by the war council, _this_ war council. My chances, however, looked slim. If I've garnered any respect by my uncle and cousin, then I could count a yes by those two. I wouldn't suspect cousin Tuuton to give his vote in my favor, but for this to work, I needed it.

Erandil Elm-Pool sat back in his seat. The Watchmaster was the commander of the Ranger Guard, the highest-ranking officer of the entire fucking elite. Erandil did not strike me as a leader of anything. He was rash and hot-headed, but the Watchmaster came in different shapes, sizes, and souls. In my family alone, there have been several Watchmasters. The High-Arrows and Lockhartes are synonymous with the Ranger Guard.

'Do you honestly believe you are worthy of challenging me?' Erandil asked, smugly smiling. 'It is like they said, you must be a challenger of notoriety if not an archer in the Ranger Guard. You are neither.'

'You seem sure of yourself,' I said. 'You think I am I not notable enough? I am the daughter of Ara High-Arrow and Faeden Lockharte.' I paced down the table towards Erandil. 'I was trained by Rollyn the Special. I am the Black Raven of Shimmer Root, I've certainly floated to the top marks of all your most wanted list across Valenwood. You _will_ give me my challenge.'

'You. Are. A. Criminal!'

'It doesn't matter whether the challenger be villain or hero, the _Guardian Pathos of Fall Heir_ only suggests someone of notoriety,' Father explained with a serious sentiment.

'However, it is true that before the challenge can be accepted, it must be put to the vote,' said the wise Mano the Elder.

'I will accept a vote,' I said.

The others turned to my father.

Prince Basdal glanced around. 'Well, in all my years coming to these useless summits, I've never seen such a thing.' He rubbed the stubble on his chin and shrugged. 'You jump in here, interrupt a summit, which is a crime by the way, and you desecrate a monument to Valenwood's heroes. Leela was it?'

'Lay-la,' I corrected him.

'Leila—excuse me. You've certainly the right, child. For even after you mention your brother's death, I haven't seen your father flinch.' Prince Basdal Camoran tilted his head, his eyes looking up at me. He began considering the others. 'There are similar stories around Valenwood, is there not, my brothers? Monsotar has plagued us for far too long. And it is no secret that Aridiil and his friends kill our own. Imagine living in fear for abiding a life you've lived for generations and being destroyed for it.'

'We've adapted, my prince. That is how we survive.'

The prince shook his head. 'Fert, we made a promise to our brethren that we would protect them and the forest. We should continue that honor.'

Erandil jabbed a finger at me, keeping his voice in a low growl. 'Monsotar has grown far too powerful, even for the Ranger Guard. What difference would you make?'

'You're afraid,' I said. It was more an accusatory statement than anything else.

My father's eyes drifted down to Erandil and his bodyguards. 'The Watchmaster must protect the people.' He turned his glare on me. 'How can we expect that from a criminal?'

'Expect it from a criminal, because your heroes do nothing,' I told him. 'Look at them,' I said, waving a hand around the Table of Forged Names. 'I mean no offense to you all, however, the words I speak bear only the truth. Listen mer; Bosmer, and Altmer, you are all elves of some worth here in Valenwood. You've taken up your weapons; your bows, your swords, and your spells to defend Valenwood and the interests of the Dominion. I have only come here to confide in you all. I've lost a lot for a path I've chosen. It's been hard. I'm done trying to do things off the strength of my own power. I need help. I need to stop the infestation of our home.' I raised my sword high, magicka pulsed through Twilight Talon. The splendor of its power shone through the blade, darkening the chamber, soaking it deep in shadowy half-light. Violet shafts of light emanated from the powerful sword, lighting fear around the room. I dropped the tip of the blade into the stone of the table and watched the lightning cracks travel through the stone. This table held the names of heroes, marks upon marks of Valenwood's greatest. So, let it be clear who is Valenwood's greatest.

A long sigh escaped the aged lungs of my uncle. 'Perhaps you are the one shake-up we've needed. Perhaps you are what we all need, how can we be sure your views are not malicious. A bout for power?'

'That's it!' Watchmaster Erandil punched the table. 'This could be some sort of war between gangs.'

'That is not what I meant, boy.'

'This is blasphemy. You've long passed your usefulness, Mano. You've obviously grown senile.'

'Silence!' Mano strained to push his voice.

Erandil stood. 'You're from a bygone era, Mano. You should watch your tongue when you speak to the Watchmaster.'

'Watchmaster Erandil!' Heads snapped towards my father. I could feel the power emanating from his presence. An oppressive aura filled the chamber, causing chills to run down my spine. I could feel the dread, the pure power. Father spoke with the commanding strength of an elf who been in a thousand battles. This was only just a sliver of the power he held. 'Do you believe yourself more worthy than anyone else in this room? Do you think your little patrol campaigns can compare to the wars we have fought? You're a mere pup compared to everyone else in this room. You're a disgrace to the seat of Watchmaster.'

'I—'

'Silence!' My father's aura surged across the chamber.

'It's always a good day when the Battlereeve starts flexing,' Crestel said with a bit of an amused grin. 'Sorry, Brother Erandil, but traditions are traditions. And since, you haven't proved yourself worth anything, I'm sure most of us are fishing for something real.'

'Shall we vote then?' Mano nodded towards the council. 'For the challenge between Leila Lockharte and Watchmaster Erandil Elm-Pool, I vote for the challenge.'

'I second that motion.' Crestel waved his hand.

Aridiil and Florentine shook their heads. Typically, I didn't expect them to vote in my favor. Perhaps they thought I could win, after all. If a challenge did go through, there's potential I could die in a duel with Erandil. I was sure that would satisfy my enemies that sat at this very table.

'As amusing as I think this all is…Leila Lockharte, it is true that we have failed in bringing justice to those that have abused their power.' He glanced towards the three High Elves. 'However, your path as a criminal is not the right way in doing things. You should have stayed your course and joined the Ranger Guard. It was good enough for Ara, why isn't it good enough for you?' He shook his head slowly and adverted his gaze. 'You do not have my vote.'

'Bow Syklen? Bow Yesime?' Mano turned his wrinkles towards the two Ranger Guardians. 'How do you vote?'

Five no's and only 2 yeses' so far. It wasn't looking good. The Leucrota, Sultel and his worms, Rindiel and those who would follow me, and even Elren and the _Rovseed_ were not enough to beat Monsotar. To destroy him, I needed an army. I needed the Ranger Guard.

'I vote yes,' Prince Basdal said, nodding.

'Y-Your voting for some thief to challenge me!' Erandil's protests were starting to annoy me.

'A no from Erandil,' Crestel said, chuckling. 'Next?'

Tuuton Lockharte shared the infamous Lockharte hardy mask, a face resilient to emotion. Tuuton the Bow, whether that meant for the rank he bore in the Ranger Guard, or his skills with the bow, it didn't matter. 'You share the Lockharte blood, and it isn't like we haven't had elves of the Lockharte clan do interesting things in the past. Isn't that right, Faeden? I vote for the challenge.'

'This is nothing more than Bosmeris cultural absurdity,' Angedaen said, calmly. 'A simple vote can allow a terrorist to become the commander of your entire army? Perhaps Lord Nethilvere had the right idea… I will vote against this ridiculousness.'

I gripped the hilt of my sword. Coming here was difficult. Standing before my father and the strongest warriors in Valenwood was difficult. But I knew what must be done. Monsotar had to die, and his entire network routed and destroyed. These so-called heroes of Valenwood sit as obstacles in my path.

'It seems that the majority does not want you to challenge the Watchmaster, Leila. The _Guardian Pathos of Fall Heir_ allows you to challenge any office. Perhaps a _Bow_ will be more suited…' Crestel suggested.

'I cannot settle for anything lesser than the Watchmaster. Valenwood can no longer be trusted in your hands.'

'Do not count the girl out, my boy.' Mano interjected. 'Our friends from Elsweyr has yet to cast their vote.'

Battlereeve Do'ava and his three generals straightened at the mention of their homeland. Their slit eyes considered everyone in the room individually. The Khajiit were meticulous people, but they were proud and largely peaceful. They made fierce warriors, but only when needed. They were much like the Bosmer in a way. They commune with the forces around them, respected it, and they did not like when people impede on their ways. It is only ironically, we've allied ourselves with the impeders of impeders. Some would say the Altmer forced us into this alliance, others would argue and say we joined the Dominion willingly. I don't know a soul who would ask for all this willingly.

Do'ava raised a furry hand, his claws were like sharpened knives ready to cut flesh. 'Khajiit cannot vote on Bosmer affairs, no. Khajiit is unsure this is wise.' He looked back at his generals, who nodded in agreement. 'Do'ava does not want to vote—should not vote. Khajiit shall forfeit four votes to Battlereeve Faeden. This one's love for her home is that of genuine love. Strength resides behind those eyes, Khajiit can tell. Khajiit hopes the moons will shine upon you and your path that lies in darkness.' He nodded and looked towards my father. 'This one's fate is in your hands, Battlereeve Faeden.'

Faeden accepted the course with a frowned nod. My father, who always looked unbothered, seem to wear weight on his shoulders now. It was a different part of him that I've seen rarely, but I knew that he considered this all. I held only four votes. He was the single deciding factor on break the shackles that Monsotar has tethered to all of them. Something told me that he knew this. My father was no fool—not even Crestel was half as strong as he was—and his words could start a war or end it. Everyone awaited his answer, but no one dares to tell him anything.

Finally, Father's eyes met mine again. We spoke through our souls, two warriors meeting in a clash of auras. Was I worthy, Father? Am I truly your child, or am I some large disappointment you'd rather toss to the wayside? I didn't want to follow the path you set up for me: Train my hardest, become strong, join the Ranger Guard, and become the Watchmaster. Here I am but on my own terms. For my own reasons.

'Leila Lockharte, I will vote in your favor,' Faeden Lockharte said standing. 'I will vote because you are a Lockharte, you are a High-Arrow, and you are a warrior. And I will allow you, as my daughter, to redeem herself. But…' He stopped the outcry before it started. '…if you fail, you will be outcasted for the rest of your life. Do you understand?'

I nodded.

Erandil stood with a peal of uneasy laughter. 'Right. Of course, her very own father would give her this challenge. You've all grown mad. But I'll give her the fight she so deserves. I'm going to kill her right in front of you, Battlereeve. And I'll put her head on display to remind you what you did to your own daughter.'

'You're going to need to use a weapon of the Ranger Guard,' Father said.

'She can use mine.' Crestel stuck his leviathan bone shortsword in the stone. I sheathed Twilight Talon and took up the light sword.

Watchmaster Erandil withdrew his shortsword made of Iron-Bark. It was the badge of office, to wield Iron-Bark. Another reminder that the Ranger Guard was and always will be a legacy of the Lockharte clan.

'It shall be a fair fight. You will only engage in single arm combat—No use of magicks, no enchantments, and no knives. The only authorized weapon is either the Ranger Guard standard shortsword, or the Watchmaster's badge of office.' Crestel shrugged. 'You may kill your opponent, however, for the sake of all of us here, don't. We're not shy to blood, but we'd rather not clean up a bloodied body.'

Erandil leaped onto the table. An acceptable stage for the next step in my revolution. Erandil was young. No more than five years my senior. The Watchmaster's line knew many young and old warriors to hold the Iron-Bark shortsword. Through his tight-lipped smile, I could see the snarl forming. And then he took his stance. His forward arm straightened, sword arm drew back. Those frightful, angry eyes turned dull, and all emotion slithered away. One couldn't expect anything less from a leader of the elites.

'This isn't personal, Erandil,' I said. 'My revolution is for all of us.'

'When you threaten my status as the Watchmaster, and the longest peace Valenwood has seen in over a century, then I tend to take it personally. I don't care if you're the Battlereeve's daughter. I'm going to make you pay for the humiliation you've shown me today.'

Erandil pounced, he was fast, probably the fastest I've ever seen, but his attack was far too rushed. I batted his strike away. I drowned out the jeers and cheers from the others. If I didn't focus, I could die. Erandil came in strike after strike, this time more calculative and more dominating. He lunged in, meeting my parry, but he followed through with a shoulder smashing against the bridge of my nose. I retreated back towards the edge of the table and ducked under a slash across my chest. My sword sang a heavenly song as I eased in a high outside. Erandil expected it and kicked my chest with a devastating blow. I retreated again and reset my stance.

'What's the matter, Leila Lockharte?' He asked. 'This harrowing performance is undeserving of the Lockharte name.' Erandil shrugged arrogantly. 'Perhaps your father was wrong for sending you away to, who was it that trained you, oh right—Rollyn the Special, wasn't it?'

I lunged in, pivoting my foot, and churning my sword. He jumped away and pounced in with a counter, cutting a long, red line along the shoulder of my sword arm. I bit back the pain and spun on my heel, swinging straight for his neck. Erandil's guard was up in a flash, but I dropped my weight and kicked into his neck. He faltered backward with a grunt. I had to take advantage of that moment; I needed to. I kept kicking, hopping from one foot to the other, flurrying with a barrage of strong kicks to the Watchmaster's head. I tightened my grip on Crestel's sword and brought it down across his torso, cutting through his leather's buckle. Finally, he gathered his senses and knocked away my finishing move with his own blade. I snaked my hand around his sword arm, curling in close towards him until our lips were so close, we could kiss. I cocked my head backward and slammed my head into his mouth. He spat blood across the table's surface.

Erandil wrinkled his nose, lips contorting into a snarl. He had the steely gaze of a warrior that has seen hundreds of victories. 'At this rate, you won't win, you understand?'

I replied by pulling the shortsword to my face, making a direct dissection of my face. By bringing the sword straight down and pushing my arms straight out, curtsying a bow. The Ranger Guard salute garnered chuckles from the spectators. Erandil, however, didn't find it as amusing.

Erandil charged in, and I stepped out of his way. Rage flared across his face as he heaved. He came in again and again, but I saw his attacks clearly and deflected every one of them. As his anger grew, his form became sloppy.

Some of us were used to anger. It filled us up with its poisonous fire, gave us focus and clarity in battle. But to others, it dulls their senses and makes the most calculative warrior become nothing more than a brute.

Erandil reared for his final attack. He swung in, the Iron-Bark blade cutting through the air. I danced into his defense; my back bumping against his chest. His body tensed, and his breathing stopped short of a breath. I spun with the shortsword outstretched and cut clear across his belly. A finishing blow.

Yesime and Syklen attempted to hop across the table but were stopped by Crestel and Prince Basdal. 'If you want to walk out of here alive with your honor intact, I suggest you two return to your seats,' Basdal warned, tapping the hilt of his sword.

'How?' Erandil asked through bloody teeth. 'A girl as young as you?'

'I used to fight for a selfish desire. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was as strong as my mother, but it got a lot of people killed. My brothers, and even people I promised to protect,' I told him. 'But now, I fight for something more. Something more than myself. I fight for Valenwood. And even though I don't serve it in some honorable office like my father would ask of me, I still fight for these forests in my own way. I am no longer just some little girl trying to please her parents. I am the Black Raven, and this is my revolution.'

The chamber grew silent. Erandil dropped to his knees, holding his wound, his blood spilling onto the Table of Forged Names.

'Save him,' I said. The two Bows grabbed their ex-Watchmaster and pulled him to the ground, healing magic sparkling around their hands. I turned to my father. 'Are we all satisfied?'

Faeden Lockharte stood from his seat, his face unreadable. 'You still need to be christened by the Silvenar. Before then, you are Watchmaster in name only. You do not lead the Ranger Guard just yet.'

'Thank you, Father.'


	39. Christened

_If we were both trees, my father's power would be a Graht-Oak and mine, a mere sapling struggling on the forest floor. But Mother's strength and skill were always compared to Tiber Septim._

* * *

Chapter 39: Christened

'Cease and desist.'

I spun around to see the Tam'Akar stomping from the Memorial of Summoners. All four in one line. I let out an exasperated sigh and raised my hands. 'Don't you think it's a little too late to arrest me, Captain?' I smiled. 'I hold the highest-ranking office in all the land,' I waved my hand, 'I have protections now.'

'I don't like your attitude,' Andalf said. He conjured up halberd with a sinister looking blade at the end.

I waited impatiently then shrugged. A slow thumping thrummed in the air. I raised my new shortsword made of leviathan bone, a small gesture I learned from watching the Ranger Guard in my younger years with Rollyn. They came nimbly from the main street, mean streaked and war-torn.

The smallest unit structure in the Ranger Guard is known as an _arrow_. Made up of seven feathers, seven shafts, and a single leader known as an _arrow tip_. The Ranger Guard was an efficient working automaton as we climb higher towards the rank of Watchmaster, we see _Bows_ leading twenty _quivers_ to create an _archery_.

'Well, Aridiil?' He raised his chin with defiance written all over his gold skinned face. 'It's your move.'

'Just because you've cheated your way to Watchmaster doesn't mean you're free of your crimes.' Florentine wagged her pretty, little finger.

The whole display was almost comical because I knew that I'd won. My hands shook but not because of fear like that past, but because of the euphoria I felt from being on top. They wanted to make their move here and now, in Arenthia. They wanted my head. I had the power to end their reign of terror. And I could with one simple order. But there was something more at stake here. No matter how many Tam'Akar agents they send across the Blue Divide to Valenwood, Monsotar will always be there to give them the freedom to terrorize us. Defeating the Tam'Akar will take more than defeating the four monsters that stand before me. I needed to stamp out their reputation and show the people they aren't the saviors they seem to be.

My father may have wanted the truth hidden, but I was a different kind of leader. I withdrew Twilight Talon and activated all three runes. A violet glare encompassed the streams of ebony running through the Iron-Bark blade. Pulsing power ran through my arm and sharpened my senses. Andalf stepped before his comrades. The Altmer's face brought me back to that day when I unleashed my sword's power. All those lives lost in a blink of an eye. I couldn't have it happen again. This time I controlled my abilities, my power, and my anger. Before Andalf could take a step, the other council members poured from the memorial's entrance. All eyes on me. Behind me, whispers and murmurs exploded from the Ranger Guard.

'Is this truly who we'll allow to become the next Watchmaster?' Inquired Bow Yesime. 'I will not follow the orders of such a… such a—'

'I expect all of you to act in a professional manner,' Crestel High-Arrow said, poking his two sense in my fight. 'Leila, you have yet to be christened as Watchmaster. If I were you, I would be on my best behavior for the simple fact that your office may and can be taken away.'

My sword went back into its sheath at that. 'Fine. However, I feel it is necessary to tell you that my right as chosen Watchmaster allows me to take on any challenge that befalls my path.' Larethia, Orc, and Grim came in from a side street, followed by Sultel and his unsightly Worms. 'I'm not your ordinary Watchmaster, you see?'

Crestel threw his head back and chortled. 'Clearly…'

'Now that you're Watchmaster, however false it may be, then maybe you'll turn the bows of the Ranger Guard towards the borders up north.' Florentine strode ever so elegantly towards me. Her smile revealed rows of pearly whites; her beauty still unmatched by anyone I've seen before.

'Good strategy, Florentine.' I said, nodding to her. 'It's good to finally meet you, by the way.'

'We've met before,' she said, through gritted teeth.

'In the flesh, I mean.' I grinned. 'You aren't another mound of dirt, I presume?'

She paused and widened her smile. 'Of course not.'

Her face was close enough to kiss her perfectly shaped lips. But I had better plans than to land a simple kiss. I would cut them from her mouth and feed them to her captain.

'My lady, Watchmaster!' A _Hand_ approached. 'The _Archery_ awaits your command. We must head for Falinesti for your christening immediately.'

'That was quick.'

'We like to make haste, milor—I mean milady Watchmaster.'

I nodded. 'Very well.' I turned to Florentine and the other three agents of the Tam'Akar. 'Sorry I don't have enough time to play. But I'm sure my campaign against the Thieves of the Wood will lead our blades to clash once more. Oh, and Aridiil… The next time we _do_ meet. It will be the last. You understand what I mean, don't you?'

Aridiil's eyes narrowed.

'You there, _Hand_ , front and center.'

'Yes, Milady Watchmaster!'

'How fast can you find four of your best Elk for my ragged friends over there?' I nodded towards the Leucrota and Sultel.

'But—'

I met the Ranger Guard officer's eyes.

'Right away, Watchmaster.'

'Before I leave,' I said, turning on a dime. 'Bow Syklen and Yesime, what are the rules for conspiring against a superior officer?' They paused; the blood drained from their faces. 'Join me at my christening. It'll be a pleasure seeing you there.'

* * *

The city of Silvenar's entrance was just as I remember it. Thousands of vines hanging from towering trees above made navigation like Oblivion. The city itself was a nestled little garden hidden behind a wall of forest. An entire _Archery_ traveled steed side at my back. Sultel and the Leucrota rode at my side. Only absent from my entourage were Bow Syklen and Yesime. The two high-ranking Guards opted to ride at the back.

It was fair game to keep an eye out for those two. The Ranger Guard was always about who was the strongest, which is why they adopted the Pathos of Fall Heir. The pathos decreed that a challenger can always fight for an officer or leading rank. It's how they kept the strongest at the top.

The Ranger Guard was different than any other army. Different from the Empire's legions, the Khajiit's litter of warriors, and the agents and soldiers that made up the Summerset's Thalmor. Clans and tribes send their most promising children to be drafted in the Guard at the tender age of six, where they endure an eight-year-long training cycle. Similarly, some parents would hire warriors to train their children in a single tutor and student relationship. I was such a child, for my father hired Rollyn to train me.

Silvenar was a gargantuan flower bed, with its palace sitting on the seat of three massive waterfalls. The sparkling river water streamed into the bay that dipped the city like a large bowl. The soft drum of over a hundred war elk moving across the glow moss. Some cities consisted of one Graht-Oak. Silvenar was an entire grove of them, but they paled in comparison to the Silvenar's palace. We came to the main gates, which wasn't a true gate at all, but more like a twisting of root and vine and sweet smelling, flowering plants. The fruits they bore took the size of seedpod domiciles.

'This never gets old,' Larethia said. 'This place is like a true fantasy. The trees are light, the sun comes over the palace and the falls, and the loot is abundant.'

'My only regret is that we're here for business and not pleasure,' I told her.

'In our profession, the two can be one and the same.'

Our convoy pushed further down the Silven Road past the hunched flowers and their indigo lights. The _Archery_ followed in their designated _Quivers_. Some were young, some were older, but they all shared high levels of skill unseen within Tamriel. All of what I knew about the Ranger Guard, I learned passively through my life. While Rollyn's education on the subject was expansive, I often found myself losing interest in matters of Valenwood's great elite gang of warriors. Another chapter to the book of rejections pertaining to Mother.

In some sense, I could feel sorry for her. I'm her daughter, but I had to live with the weight of merely being her daughter. However, I'm sure even Ara of the Ghost Bow felt the pressure a parent's name would afford. Before the Oblivion Crisis, the Ranger Guard was led by one of the greatest archers of the third era, who fathered my mother. Watchmaster Belstigorn High-Arrow was not only the leader of the High-Arrow clan but led the Ranger Guard to the first opening of the gates. My struggles paled in comparison to Watchmasters of the past, but the threat to Valenwood's people remain unchanged.

I motioned to stop some ways before the gate. Two riders traveled down the road, the glow of Y'ffre's light leaving a luminated trail along the carpet of moss. There wasn't much commuting out of the City of Silvenar, it was an odd place that only saw travelers in their day by day functions. I pulled up alone to the duo. 'Neilo? Heila?'

The child-faced twins halted their elks. 'If it isn't Leila Lockharte! How've you been, eh? I see the blood didn't run too far to your head… or has it?'

'Should've known something like that wouldn't have held me for too long, Neilo,' I said with a chuckle.

'Heila, get a load of this. This girl here nearly beat me in single combat.' The eighth seat Elder Guardian nudged his sister.

'Oh, please, Neilo. You know you aren't the best fighter in the world. I don't even know how you still maintain the eighth seat.' Heila raised an eyebrow and looked past me. 'What's with the escort?'

I parted my cloak to reveal the Iron-Bark shortsword. Their eyes widened, and the jaws fell agape. 'How in the Oblivion did you get that?'

'I am to be christened before nightfall,' I told them with a smile. 'You have a new commander.'

Heila shook her head in disbelief. 'That's… not at all unbelievable. Seeing as how you _did_ kill Arian the Brave where we failed.'

After I was finished with my boast, I looked down towards Silvenar's gates. 'If you didn't know of my christening as Watchmaster, then why are you here?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?' Neilo inquired. 'Quite frankly, it's none of your business.'

'Oh?' I withdrew the badge of the Watchmaster and let the indigo luminescence glitter across the blade. 'Then I order you to tell me. The Elder Guard doesn't just show themselves out in public like this, I know all too well. You've come to Silvenar for a good reason, and I want to know.'

'Fine.' Neilo pouted. 'Pulling rank is unfair. Even if it's as fluid as the Watchmaster.'

'Any one of the Elder Guard can assume the role of the Watchmaster. You all possess the necessary skill, even the lowliest seat. However, despite you all being so powerful, I still retain the highest rank. You two are still members of the Ranger Guard, but you're only _Bows_.'

'We're here on an escort,' Neila answered finally.

'Escort?' I raised an eyebrow and scanned the road. 'I don't see any dignitaries around.'

Neilo sighed deeply. 'Not a dignitary. A child.'

'Shut up, Neilo.'

'What? We can't disobey an order from the Watchmaster.'

Heila shook her. 'Why are you this stupid. You know, Papa always said you were born with a numbed mind. Said Mama ate Gingo beans when she bore you in her womb.'

'We're twins, you gods-damned Hoarvor brain!' Neilo scratched his head. 'Anyway, I know you don't like the Tam'Akar, so we can't tell you.'

'By Hircine's curse.' Heila smacked her brother across the back of the head. 'You idiot!'

I narrowed my eyes. 'The Tam'Akar? I just saw them. What are they doing here?'

Heila palmed her face. 'It's just the boy. Said he's looking for a fugitive, but with their authority here in Valenwood slowly dwindling, the people are beginning to distrust them and even go as far as attacking anyone that wears the brass eagle.'

'Where is he now?'

'Close,' Neilo said.

I sighed. 'How close, Neilo. Give me the details of Liemo's location.'

'Close enough, Leila Lockharte.'

I laughed and spun my steed around. 'I knew I smelled breast milk.'

'If you two are done…' he looked me up and down, '…socializing, we should get on our way. My target is a high priority.'

I rode across the path of the rosy-cheek Tam'Akar agent. 'And might I ask who your target is?'

'Get out of my way.'

'Okay,' I said, slipping from my elk. 'Let me rephrase that.' I pointed my shortsword towards the child. I still was in disbelief that this boy was nearly half my age, but far more powerful. 'This time I'm ordering you, as the Watchmaster of the Ranger Guard, to _tell_ me who your target is.'

He took several steps towards me and strode on by. 'I don't take orders from you, savage. However, just to delight from the various, ugly faces you people make when in discomfort, I'll tell you.'

I gripped the shortsword tightly.

'Elren of the Red Moss. The so-called "Lord of Silence."'

I couldn't give the brat the satisfaction of seeing my jaws clench. Elren can take care of himself, but to they were singling him out just to spite me. 'Perhaps you're still too young to understand this, Liemo, but if you don't watch yourself, you won't live to bed your first Altmer lady.'

He pouted, and despite the soft blue glow, his face reddened.

Larethia put her steed to a canter. As she approached, her eyes fell on the other windsmith. 'Is everything alright, Raven?'

'Yes,' I replied. 'Let's hurry to the palace. I'm growing impatient, and there's still much I need to… attend to.'

The entrance to the palace followed a smooth arching bridge that joined the palace with the rest of the city. The lake underneath held a magnificent blue hue that was subsequent of the abundance of Y'ffre's light of its denizens that swam in colossal schools. The petals of the palace glistened in the sun's rays with a slick oily sap which the Dongen bees come to claim for their delicate honey. Hoarvors, Pollup birds, and a cloud of Grace pollen filled the air around the Silvenar's home, causing the sky to swarm with a dancing neon atmosphere. My mouth salivated under the unbelievably sweet aromas wafting through the air.

The city and the palace were home to the Bosmer's spiritual leader said to be near to a normal Bosmer with political power or a Bosmer withholding all the Bosmer's knowledge and their innermost feelings. If turmoil marked across Valenwood, the Silvenar could feel it as if he were experiencing the heartache first hand, or if the province prospered, then he was a light within the light. To me, the Silvenar had always seemed like just another politician. Some time ago, I learned that the Silvenar was wont to giving Father ambassadorial rights, which is why when the tide that was the Thalmor rolled their shadow over Valenwood, it was Father that became the liaison between the Thalmor and the Silvenar. Despite already being the supreme Battlereeve to the Ranger Guard and any militia in Valenwood, he was also a diplomat named by our spiritual leader. It was an enigma I couldn't figure out, and at times when I decided to give up the mystery, I told myself that everyone and everything in Valenwood was simply corrupt.

I was slowly falling into my place in Milkar's destiny. With his death, sad to say, it revealed _my_ destiny instead. I had but one question: Would I truly follow my brother's footstep and die before I could become Valenwood's savior, or will I be the one to free my home from the grips of the Thieves of the Wood and the Tam'Akar? It's simply put. The Thalmor wanted war. Whether it be with the believers of different religions, the Empire, or anyone that stood in their way, they would have it, but to manage the impact on my people was my job as it was Milkar's.

'Send the Leucrota, Sultel, anyone. If you want Elren protected, he will have it.'

'It's too dangerous, and I can't have you all die before it is time. Too much death has already been shared. I can't see any more of it.' I told Larethia. 'We'll just have to wait until after the christening.'

'Stop worrying about such mundane issues, Raven. The Leucrota knew what shit they stepped on when we decided to follow; to believe in your strength and your revolution.' The air of sincerity around Larethia thickened.

We crossed the threshold into the palace on foot, our Elk left on the far side. I ordered the Ranger Guard to hold the post on the other side of the bridge docking because I didn't need the audience. Only my most trusted friends entered with me. The Leucrota and Sultel Worm-Flower. They may have been Nightblades, once employed by the malevolent Monsotar Handseed, but these were the only people alive that I would put my life in their hands. The Divines had a funny way of sharing your path with others.

Inside, the palace was a glorious place. The faint smells of light fruit wafted my nose, the walls were thick and rubbery and stemmed with pulsating veins, streaming life-giving blood made of the sun's rays and the waters of the lake. We staggered through the main foyer and into a circling chamber. Towards the center stood angelic sprouting of stone arches connected by white pillars and a dome. A ghastly blue flame coiled and flared at the center of the shrine, behind it, through the fire, it seemed harness daylight from another world. With a focused stare, clouds moved through the arches. Through another arch, a sea of trees swayed in a storm.

'Is that what I think it is?' Orc moved closer.

Nearly lost for words, I turned to him. 'What do you think it is?'

Orc shook his head. 'Wayshrines aren't something you see every day, you know.' He whistled. 'What I would give to have one of those.'

I've seen Wayshrines before, but never one active. Wayshrines were certainly a rare sight, but they were ironically common, seeing as how they were found all over Valenwood. The ancient Ayleids that once ruled Tamriel's mainland built the all over the continent in case they needed to quickly mobilize somewhere. Another testament to High Elven delusions of supremacy.

'Did you come here for sight-seeing or are you ready to assume the duties you challenged for, Leila.' My father descended a slithering step of broadened petals.

'You've been holding out on me, father.' I waved at the wayshrine. 'So, this is how you used to disappear at a moment's notice when I was younger.'

Faeden eyed me closely. His eyes fell on the numerous scars and pockmarked skin where my tattered armor didn't cover. I must've looked like a completely different girl than before I left to join Milkar. However, my father barely looked my way when I was younger. Only occasionally to acknowledge me during his training affairs. Weren't those the days? He looked ceremonious with his Battlereeve armor donned. The way he intimidated—something I could never overcome—was a set up in my mind. Father wasn't a blabbering politician or a cowardly egoistic warrior hiding behind rank. He was the real deal. There was one rule in the Thieves of the Wood when they heard that the Battlereeve was on the field—Run on sight.

My mind began to trip on itself as he came within an arm's reach. He narrowed those terrifying eyes and bunched my cloak in his hands. 'You should assume the Watchmaster's armor after your bath.'

'B-bath?' I cleared my throat. 'What bath?'

'You will not be christened by the Silvenar in those tatters. Living in the dirt like a cretin is saved for war campaigns and training.'

'I like the dirt…' Orc whispered, earning a nudge from Larethia.

'These tatters are what got me through to where I am now. And they are what I will wear when I avenge my brothers.'

My father wore a plain face. 'You should have more pride in yourself, girl.'

'Pride? I told you your sons were murdered, and yet you don't even have the time to mourn. Did you even know that Rollyn was killed by Aridiil?'

'I do not mourn them because they died doing what they believed was right! We as Bosmer do not mourn those who've joined the ancestors when it was their will to die by that right.' He exclaimed. 'Or perhaps you need a lesson in pride before we start?'

Father snapped his fingers, and a slew of handmaidens poured from the halls of the palace. They stormed around us and tried to usher us away. My father came from a different era where war was in abundance. He saw his family obliterated during the Oblivion Crisis, saw his friends die, and he watched my mother's life creep away as she gave birth to me. And he has not cried for any of them. I was stupid to think he would show any signs of love towards me or his sons' passing. Milkar and Aranwen were gone, and the only soul alive to carry the burden of lost was me.

I quickly turned to Sultel before we were separated. 'Find the Lord of Silence. Keep him safe from the Tam'Akar and bring him here.'

'So, it shall be done, Raven,' he said, slipping through the crowd of handmaidens. 'I wish you well!'

I let the palace servants take the Leucrota and me into the next room. This chamber was smaller than the other. Filled with a bed of flowers surrounding a steamy pool of still water. The chamber held a haze to it, the warm mist that clouded the full view. One maiden asked me to strip my weapons and armor and set them on a small display table.

I turned to Larethia, Grim, and Orc and nodded towards them, giving them assurance.

'Will you be alright?' Larethia shoved a maiden from her view of me.

I nodded. 'I will,' I said. 'I'll play along just so that I can get this over with. I won't be long.'

With that, the remaining members of the Leucrota exited the chamber. Focusing on the pool, I could tell that the water was heated by an aquatic root that glowed with an ominous yellow light. I looked down at my hands. Dirt caked under my fingernails, and the polish I'd slathered over my nails were now chipped and messy.

I began peeling away my armor, letting the leather hit the ground with heavy thuds. I felt their weight leave my body, making me as light as a cloud. They watched me undress, and their eyes betrayed their emotions. Many of them flinched at the sight of my scars from years of training and fighting. I was misshapen. I had an athletic build. Every inch of me was knotted, lithe muscle and my womanly parts garnered many a stare from the opposite sex.

A matronly servant took my hand and led me off to the edge of the pool. 'Dip yourself,' she said. 'And relax.'

I slouched down into the warm, soothing water, but I couldn't let the relaxation take me fully. My mind wandered to dark places. Liemo's target was none other than Elren. _My_ Elren. We were both wanted criminals with a similar list of crimes, but he didn't have the immunity I had. The only thing that kept me from going off to find him myself was that Elren was superior in skill than I was. I watched him fight Aridiil with an unshaken resolve. He didn't flinch once when the master mage took us head-on. I had but one crutch Elren did not, and that was Twilight Talon. I knew that I was good, but my sword made me better. The powerful blade put me in a tier far above anyone that could beat me, which is why I kept the sword so close. But for Elren, he only had his skills.

I sighed as the maidens went to scrubbing. They went in parts of my body that some would call evasive, but at this point, I didn't mind it one bit. A young girl by the name Fairien held a sun-dried sea sponge and began at my feet. She took up one foot and delicately ran the sponge up and down my toes, working her way up my ankles and then my shins. When she reached my inner thigh, she slowed and peered at me. I met her with my gaze, which was probably too intense. She reached in deeper and rubbed the scrub slightly, reaching around to my buttocks. Another maiden massaged my hair and tried running her fingers through the locks, which she found nearly impossible.

'Tilt your head back,' she said as she poured and heavenly warm oil over my head. Finally, whatever knots that gave her a fight came away easily.

She took the rest of the flagon and washed my shoulders and breast with the oils, slipping her own sponge over the rest of my body. I nearly moaned in delight.

'You might be the youngest we've ever had to prepare,' one of the older handmaidens said. 'But your body tells a tale of years of tarnish.'

I squealed as she took my hands in hers and slowly caressed my fingers and thoroughly over my palm. Before I could fall any deeper in the warm trance, I opened my eyes and stood straight up, catching almost all the servants by surprise. 'That's enough.'

'Of course!' They began scrambling around.

I looked around but didn't see my black leathers. However, my weapons still lay on the display table. I managed to catch the stare of a handmaiden and gestured towards where I laid my armor. 'Where is it?'

She gasped. 'W-we were asked to get you new—'

'I want _my_ armor,' I said. 'Where is it.' I didn't see when they removed it in my drunken, relaxed spell.

Larethia and Sultel shouldered their way into the misty chamber. Sultel stopped at the entrance, drinking in my nakedness with a wide-eyed stare. 'Oh my.'

I turned away, feeling more comfortable showing them my bare back instead of my privates. Bosmer isn't especially particular when it comes to privacy, but I grew up differently. Although I've tried to embrace it. 'Any conclusions?'

'One,' Larethia replied. 'Elren is in the city.'

Forgetting about my current nakedness, I spun to glare at Larethia. 'Here?' She quickly snatched a drying cloth and covered me.

'My lady, your armor,' said the oldest handmaiden. 'I'm sorry for the mix-up.'

'It's fine.' I waved her away. 'Tell my father I am ready.'

She bowed deeply. 'Yes, my lady.'

'We have to find him before the Tam'Akar does.'

'And if they do, will we have a fight on our hands.'

I began strapping my old tattered leathers back to my body but paused. 'I can't fight them, and I can't protect him openly.'

Larethia raised an eyebrow. 'Since when do you follow the rules?'

'I can't sabotage my only chance to lead the Ranger Guard against Monsotar,' I told her.

'So…what now?'

'We could…covertly kill Liemo,' Sultel suggested openly, analyzing one of my throwing knives. 'My worms only reported the boy. Aridiil and the others are in Falinesti.'

I stifled a laugh. 'Aren't you the blunt one.' I pulled my breeches over my ass. 'Liemo may be young, but he is almost as powerful as the others. Which is something to say because he's…uh, so young.'

'We're talking nonchalantly about killing a small boy. A little murderous monster, but still a youngling,' Larethia said. 'When do we start?'

I slipped my platebody over my head. ' _You_ won't be doing anything. I'll handle Liemo myself.'

'Leila…' Larethia wagged her finger. 'You're not alone in this fight anymore. You have us. You have an entire army for Y'ffre's sake.'

'You're right,' I said. 'But Elren is…Elren is in a dark place because of me. I have to be the one.' This target painted on Elren's back was because of me. I felt it my responsibility to make sure that everyone came out of this alive.

The Silver Crescents died because I thought I could shoulder everyone's burden. It took their deaths for me to realize that I made things go out of control. If only I allowed Aranwen to forgive Arian, we would have never fallen into Monsotar's trap, and perhaps my brothers would have lived to see the moment I become the Watchmaster.

In the foyer before the door to Chamber of the Grand, I paused. I still panicked, and I thought of all the things that could go wrong. My friends can still die. Reliving that horrifying day all over again will be the death of me. I would never recover. Yet, I seem to drag more and more people into harm's way.

It took four servants to push the Silvenar's leaf-veil. In my impatience, I gave it an extra push. What waited behind the leaf-veil surprised me. The room couldn't even be called a chamber. It was half the size of the baths, and only a quarter the size of the main chamber. There wasn't anything significant about it. At least, nowhere near compared to the rest of the palace. There was a single row of chairs curving in towards a pedestal. Seated in them were only a few armored guardians. My father stood adjacent to the pedestal, near a very small Bosmer. My eyes stayed glued to him.

Portraits of Silvenar had always made him out to be this gargantuan, pious elf with an unlimited amount of spiritual power. The wood elf that awaited me was nothing of the sort. He wore a tightly woven tunic with a pair of breeches that ended at his ankles, but they still looked as if they've been stepped on several times. His hair was somewhat unkept, almost as if he half-heartedly combed it through. He looked…normal. He stared kindly at me as if he was a satisfied farmer at dusk just finished with his work on a peaceful day.

I walked slowly down the aisle, Larethia, and Sultel at my back. Faeden Lockharte's face was the usually unreadable glower I was used to. A scoff resounded from the meager audience, and I turned to see Bow Yesime and Syklen sitting at the edge of the pew. I gave a half-hearted smile towards them, but the others, I didn't recognize.

'Milord Silvenar,' I started. 'My deepest apologies for making you wait.' I tried to bow deeply, but the Silvenar shook his hands clumsily.

'There is no need for apologies, my child. I can feel it in your heart.' The Silvenar spoke with a voice as if he'd eaten clouds to break his fast.

I turned to my father, and he nodded. I stepped forward once more. Sitting on the pedestal was a stone bowl of glistening water. The Silvenar smiled gently. I thought of how Mother could have been standing on the other side with pride in the emerald eyes that we shared. Perhaps none of this would be necessary. I would've lived a good life free of the burdens that I adopted on my own because I thought I needed to.

'Are you ready?' The Silvenar asked. I nodded.

He dipped his hands in the water and the glittering liquid swirled around his fingers. When he took them out, small blue light swarmed around them. I bowed my head towards him, allowing him to put his delicate but warm fingers on my forehead. He pressed his thumbs and dragged them down to the bridge of my nose. I felt a repose overcome my body as if I sat in the baths once more. An image flickered across my mind's eye; a picture painted perfectly in the likeness. It was a family; a father, a mother, two sons, and a single daughter. They were happy together with smiles on their face. It was my family. I looked upon the woman Bosmer's face. There was a certain power there that both frightened me and made me feel at ease. 'Mother,' I squealed so quietly it can be challenged that I said anything at all.

I straightened my head and pulled myself back into the real world. The Silvenar dropped his hands down to my chin and tucked my jaw between his fingers.

'Welcome our most wonderful protector, Leila Lockharte.' He said softly.

The Silvenar stepped aside and allowed my father to take his place. Father held his Iron-Bark shortsword in his hand. Like mine, his was a badge of office. He laid the flat of the blade down on my right shoulder first, and then on my left. 'You are now Watchmaster of the Ranger Guard.'

I stepped away and nodded. Slow clapping began behind me, and I turned only to see Sultel and Larethia had been the ones to clap. The others stared on in discontent. Good. They'll be with me on the front lines. I began down the aisle with Larethia and Sultel at my side. 'The rest of you can follow me.' They stood uneasily. 'We're going to Falinesti.'

'Just one moment, daughter of the forest,' The Silvenar called to me. 'I have some things to discuss with you.'


	40. The Father Tree

_I once challenged Tutor Rollyn's strength. A moment's flare of his power was enough to bring me to my knees as tears poured from my eyes. Yet, I'm to believe Mother was stronger._

* * *

Chapter 40: The Father Tree

The road to Falinesti was long, but I had a lot to think about to past the time. The Silvenar's words resonated within me like an ominous echo in my heart. Despite his looks and my original reaction towards that commoner's demeanor, he was far from normal. With every word, it was apparent that he peered into my mind; he recognized the turmoil of my heart. I've lived a struggle of many fronts. My world was torn between a list of enemies that kept on growing and a list of allies that grew with it. I walked one pace at a time down a path that I put myself on. Every action, a slight twist on the road. Right then, there was only one goal, though, and that was my revolution.

The Tam'Akar were one thing, as powerful as they were, they were untouchable. But their political image can be distorted in the eyes of the people if only I can expose them; it can be taken away, even if that wasn't what the hierarchy truly wanted. In the end, all their fancy robes and gaudy spell casting won't stop the public from hating them then. Monsotar Handseed served more of a threat than even Aridiil, for Monsotar held nothing back in the wake of passion. I've learned that firsthand. His love, eaten by darkness, relit and rebirthed into a pit of fire and hatred.

' _Your body is merely a vessel. It grows with every challenge that awaits you. Your soul is like a tree. It'll grow until it has blossomed and bore its fruit.'_ He hadn't spoken with that easy voice of his. This time it was a powerful growl that talked directly to the soul.

I never trusted soothsayers, even if this one was the Silvenar. Those cryptic words didn't serve me much when I knew simple understanding truth like hate and love; the tip of a sword and the twang of a bowstring. His words couldn't have mattered less. If my body was merely a vessel for something else, I didn't care as long as I protected Valenwood—from either Aedra or Daedra.

'How do we know Monsotar won't make the first move?' Grim asked, his face uncomfortable.

'Because Monsotar wants me to come with my all,' I told them.

Larethia, Grim, and Orc looked on anxiously. Grim grunted. 'We've known Monsotar for years, Raven. We know his deception leaves a long trail of bodies.'

I shook my head and gripped my reins tighter. 'I'm closer to Monsotar than you all believe. He was… he was my mother's pupil. There is something missing in him. A void that just kept widening, creeping ever larger until there was nothing left. Monsotar wants to fill it, and I know that I'm the only one that could do it.'

'Listen, I really don't care what's the complexity behind this fight. I only care about seeing his head separated from his body.'

'We all want to see him dead, Grim.' Larethia said. 'And the Black Raven is the only one that can do it.'

There was none that could compare to the majesty of the Father Tree. Falinesti was twice the size of Elden Root; two times higher and wider. The Elden Tree reached nearly a mile into the heaven, whilst Falinesti reached up to two miles. Its highest branches scraped against the tops of the clouds, brushing the stars as if sweeping the white dust of the black sky. Though, a city like many other Graht-Oak cities, it was far more expansive thanks to the army of lesser Graht-Oaks and trees that gathered around it. Graht-Oaks were monstrous compared to the ordinary tree, they grew ten times their size, possibly dozens of times the size of a normal tree, and that's saying a lot in Valenwood. However, Falinesti was even larger than them. People lived on the Father tree, but they also lived on some of the other Graht-Oaks within the grove. It was like cities within a city.

The road to the Father tree wasn't a paved one or even a trodden path made by an innumerable number of Bosmer and travelers from all over Tamriel. These roads were the crisscrossing contusions gargantuan tree roots made on the land. In the jungle, Graht-Oak, and even larger normal trees made root walls where their exposed roots would gather dirt over a long period of time to create massive mounds and ridges across the forest floor. Some make homes, some roads, and some were just an annoying obstacle.

'The old man used to take me here when I was a youngling.' Orc began with his eyes widened in pure awe. It didn't matter how long you've lived in Valenwood or how many times you've seen Falinesti. It always captured you. 'This city is where he taught me to fight, steal, and fuck.'

'Divines forbid he ever taught you anything wholesome,' Larethia chuckled.

'Wholesome it was.' Orc sniffed a strange overhanging plant. 'I can't wait to remember him.'

Larethia shook her head. She nodded towards me, and I pretended I didn't see. 'We've got things to do here, Orc. No time for lollygagging or fucking.'

'Saving her lover?'

'If you say that boy is capable of protecting himself. If he's stronger than you, then why aren't we leading the charge to Centaurcrass right now?' Grim asked at my back. 'The more we wait to kill Monsotar, the less it becomes possible. If it's possible, to begin with…'

'Because everyone deserves their chance at redemption, don't you think?' I turned my head slightly. 'Before all this, I didn't even know who Monsotar was. I didn't know how much he controlled or how he did it.' The Silvenar said I was a vessel for something far more powerful. 'I ran into this, I made the first move against him, and I didn't know what I was doing or why.' They listened to me in silence. 'But everyone around me was wronged by him. Elren, my brothers, you three… if none of you existed, I would have no reason to fight.'

'So why do you?' Asked ugly Orc.

'Because without me, there is no winning against him.'

Before my brothers died, before I was involved in the Silver Crescents and the entirety of this underground world, my slate was clean. But now, everyone has put their trust in my sword arm. I was a vessel for their pain and suffering. The pleas of the wrong cry out to be lifted into the light, and I was there for them. My brother's love for Valenwood, Elren's revenge for his tribe, the Leucrota's suffering, the Raw Tooth, and the others, Sultel and his worms, and Augoth with his brother. I am _their_ vessel; their only chance at victory against an unstoppable force. They ask me why I fought other people's battles, and I told them I was the only person that can win.

My heart beats the rebellion necessary to keep this new world in order. I do not stand for anyone but for an idea that won't hold back against anyone who isn't for Valenwood.

'How are we going to find them in all this?'

A good question. Falinesti was simply far too vast, and it would take days if not weeks to find Elren or Liemo. I turned to Sultel for answers. If his worms were the ones to spot Elren in Falinesti then perhaps they can find him again. Or find the Tam'Akar that hunts him.

Sultel's bony structure sat uncomfortably on his Elk. He shifted around and looked back at the two Bows that trailed behind. 'My Worm's last message told me someone of Elren's description was here in Halo quarter. We should try there first.'

The Halo quarter was a section of the city in which the branches circled around the trunk of the tree. It was also the most crowded and the densest part of Falinesti. If a fight were to break out there, then a lot of people would get in the way and subsequently get hurt. I knew the Altmer child Liemo to be strong, but to only send him was severely underestimating Elren. Even so, the dangers of the youngling's skill still served to put fear for my friend in my heart.

The Tam'Akar were a dangerous bunch, but I didn't deem them as dangerous as the Thieves of the Wood. However, there was an army of Nightblades under Monsotar's employ and only four agents of the Tam'Akar. I had to laugh at the thought that only four Altmer, as powerful as each may be, could cause so much damage to Valenwood in such little time. We may not see such damage on the surface, it isn't even public knowledge, but the rippling effect across the board shall surely be felt over a longer period of time. I felt something building up in the tensions of life. Something long looming like a shadow of a Graht-Oak.

The vastness of Falinesti could put a person in shock. When we broke out of the grove towards the base of the tree, the sheer size of Falinesti exploded in its full force. It was hard not to show a shred of emotion to know that something this unfathomable can exist. Its roots were held apartments for thousands of Bosmer, Wood Orcs, and many others that found Valenwood as their home. One could live an entire lifetime in the lower extremities of the tree and never have to travel anywhere else. We slipped between the valley of two roots. On either side, they looked like long hill ranges on either side. Compared to Falinesti, Shimmer Root was but a mere shrub.

In the intricate confines of the base, the dense population moved like a colony of termites, moving in and out, basically like any other city. There are several ways to trek Falinesti: you can hoof it on foot, silt strider, or use one of the hundreds of good ol' platform ferries. We chose to take a more subtle choice.

'We take Ruckus Road through East Haven and get off at the Southern Cross. From there…' Orc dragged his finger across the directory, '…we take the Pinto Carving into the Western Cross… it looks like we'll have to travel into the Slayer's Bough and come out into the Halo.'

'I don't think so,' Exclaimed Yesime. 'The Slayer's Bough isn't the safest place to be. Especially for us Ranger Guard.'

'An elite warrior of Valenwood's finest fight force isn't afraid of a few bad neighborhoods, are you?' I winked at the _Bow_ teasingly.

'It isn't that, Watchmaster. By now, everyone knows you've taken the Ranger Guard. A thug like you would—' Syklen pierced his lips before he could say anything more. His mouth curled into a snarl before looking away.

Grim stepped before them with a mean mug of his own. 'I say we ditch these two and go about this on our own like usual.'

I patted my hot-tempered friend on the shoulder. 'They come with the package deal.'

We found space on a platform ferry that was unseeingly difficult to come by. The crew of thick-armed Bosmer coordinated a series of vine that coiled and wrapped around iron fastenings through the flat platform. The long line of fulcrums wheeled along dripping lengths of vine that looked long past the time to snap, snatching the platform up and up thanks to the efforts of the crew. They looked strong enough, but I wondered how many strength potions they drank themselves drunk on by the day. By the time we docked at Ruckus Road, there were already several empty vials rolling around the flatbed. I paid ten coppers extra for each of them. The rest of the journey went very much the same. We moved smoothly through the crowds of people oblivious of the new Watchmaster passing right under their noses.

I didn't need the celebrity of the title; I only needed the army it commanded. I was going to crush Monsotar if not with numbers but with superior skill. His nightblades versus my Ranger Guardians.

The Halo Quarter was a quieter part of the tree. An intersection of two minor branches twisted around each other on the lower sector and one large branch crossing straight through them. Citizens traversed through the boughs' roads. On each side, tree pods grew into many businesses, apartments, and storage houses. Whatever the people that lived here desired it to be. Even here, the search for Elren was tedious. Greenpact Bosmer came here, so did tribal and contemporary Wood Orcs, and new era Bosmer. Everyone that found magic in Valenwood called Falinesti home.

Across the gnarled lanes, the people scrambled in their mundane musings.

'What are we doing here, Watchmaster?' Yesime asked. 'We should meet with the _Bows_ , address the _Archeries_ , and oversee the plans for your…campaign.'

'He's right,' Syklen grunted at his side. 'Using us to search for your lover is an abuse of your authority. You should denounce the Watchmaster title…and be hung.' That last part was said under his breath.

Figured ignoring their complaints was a part of the job. They were guards, not advisors. 'Can you search for a half Colovian half Bosmer with beautiful brown eyes and a brilliant smile on his face?' I turned to them. 'Actually, I'm ordering you. As long as it keeps both your mouths shut.'

'Oh, sweet Leila. Could your friend be wearing a strange mask of polished Osseinium in the make of a dire wolf?' Sultel asked in a sardonic tone.

'Yes?'

He pointed. Across the meeting of three boughs, through the crowd of unsuspecting people, and so close, I almost felt ashamed, was Elren followed by two other _Rovseed_. 'Yes!' My exclaim made a family of four glare at me as if I had three heads.

I kissed Sultel quickly on his bony cheek. 'Well! Glad to be of service, I suppose.'

'Lucky. All I've ever got from her were threats to my life,' Orc said, chuckling.

I moved impatiently, leaving the others where they were. I rushed down the bough lane, cutting and pushing through the crowd. But Elren and his survivors were further along on the other branch. I hopped up a raised ridged and pushed down on the leaves blocking me. Falinesti was dripping with long lengths of vine thick enough to hold the weight of a mammoth. I launch a throwing knife into the loop, and it let go on one side, I picked it up and let my body fly down with it. I landed on the lower branch. The action garnered the eyes of nearly everyone.

'Sorry, excuse me. Sorry. Watch it.' I ran nearly as fast hopeful to catch up to Elren. 'Elren! Elren!' He didn't answer. I thought then that he just couldn't hear me over the music of a busy city. 'Elren!' I called again. This time, one of his masked friends turned to see me but didn't care to stop.

That angered me. I double-timed. Elren stopped and glanced me before scaling the side of a tree pod. At the top, they began running, hopping roof to roof. I slowed. My hands balled to fist and breathed hard. That's when I truly gave chase. 'Elren! I said stop!' And finally, he stopped.

Elren slipped his mask from his face but said nothing.

'Did you already forget we're fighting Monsotar together?'

'The Tam'Akar,' he said softly.

'…Are too dangerous for you to fight alone.'

'I have the _Rovseed_.' I could tell he dared me to challenge their abilities.

My eyes widened. 'You—Elren, what has happened to you?'

The Tam'Akar would get theirs because I was going to be the one to make sure of it. However, in order to make sure theirs is truly served; the people needed to see that it was necessary to break them down. Support for the Thalmor was high in Valenwood because the people that call themselves our leaders haven't told us the truth. And it was that fact that was tearing Elren apart. His world was as shattered before his eyes. I knew what happened to him, but I didn't consider that maybe he felt the same way I did. That smile I once loved about him was gone.

'I'm sorry, Leila.' And he turned his back. That soft voice, that smile longing for love, those eyes that I missed so much.

What has happened to us?

The world continued around us as if nothing was happening. I struggled with the ignorance of this world; their oblivious awareness of what's happening in Valenwood sickens me. I wanted out. But that wouldn't happen until the ones poisoning these forests are gone. When I defeat Monsotar and destroy the Tam'Akar only then can I disappear into the shadow.

'Elren of the Red Moss. You are under arrest for conspiracy against the Thalmor, and the Tam'Akar.' I swung around to see Liemo standing on the roof just behind us.

'No—'

'It's better if you not fight it and come with me with no complaints,' Liemo gestured towards Elren.

I quickly raised my arm to block Liemo. 'You have no right to arrest someone who was only trying to defend himself. You've hunted the Greenpact Bosmer, and now it's illegal for them to retaliate.'

'The law is clear,' he said. 'Perhaps you should heed to it, Watchmaster Leila Lockharte.'

'I don't heed to anyone!'

I felt a hand clasp my shoulder and turned to meet Elren's eyes. There was something behind there I've never seen before. A twisted animalistic want that called on the soul. He needed this just as much as I needed it before. That same wild hunger for battle. I was looking into a mirror and seeing the creation of the Black Raven, only this time it was Elren becoming the Lord of Silence. I stepped aside, surrendering to his touch.

Finally, Larethia and the other caught us up, drawing their weapons, but I had to stop them. This wasn't our fight. I won't stand here and control Elren's choices. These lessons are his to learn.

Elren withdrew a new sword he never revealed before. A long sword made of pure malachite that glittered a specular blue. I knew it as one of the swords of King Eplear from that day on Honey-Tongue's ship. Blue tendrils cackled outward as lightning stripped from it, colliding at speeds unfathomable with the environment around it. The radiation was so powerful as the lightning slit small fissures across the ground. Elren once told me we shouldn't become what we fight, I supposed he was wrong. We had to fight fire with fire so that others wouldn't have to do it. It's the sacrifice people like us, like Milkar, made for the future generations of rebels and rogues.

'If that's how you'll have it,' Liemo stretched his arms forward and summoned bouts of magicka to his palms. An orb of lightning appeared on both his palms, and he clapped them together, creating a distinct explosion over his hands and forearms. From his elbow down it was covered in sparks. 'I'll take your body in instead.'

'What are we going to do?' Larethia asked. She scanned the crowds of onlookers with a concerned grimace. 'This isn't going to be pretty.'

'If people get hurt, it'll be your fault, Watchmaster.' Yesime claimed condescendingly.

'You and Syklen make yourselves useful and start evacuating the immediate area.'

Suddenly, a flash of lightning blasted away from where Elren and Liemo stood. It struck into a tree pod across the bough-lane and destroyed the pod in a matter of seconds. Screams shrieked, and people began to scramble frantically. I turned to the _Bows_. 'Go now!' And they ran off yelling their commands.

'Larethia, Grim, and Orc, we have to be on the lookout for Liemo's partner. He's—' Suddenly a large rip in the fabric of Mundus formed above the Halo Quarter. We had no time before a giant arm made of pure ice came forth to pierce the ground before us. A roar thundered through the tree as two yellow globes peered at us through the passage from this world to the planes of Oblivion.

Larethia flew into the air, carried by her wind magicks, her leaf-bladed sword drawn and ready. Grim's battleax slammed into the arm that pierced the wood before him. Orc did the same. The Ice Atronach crawled into our plane of Mundus spraying ice in all directions. Larethia came down on to the arm, her sword picking into its ice form as an anchor to its slippery structure.

The smallest prickle across my neck spun me around. I withdrew Twilight Talon to guard against a spectral battleax. It slammed into my sword, and with the force of the throw, I spun around and deflected into the ground.

'Obstruction of justice is a high crime, little girl.' Andalf dissipated the ax and summoned a new one to his hand. 'This is the end of the road.'

'I don't think the Tam'Akar understands what true justice is!' I barked. 'It isn't just killing and torturing those who disagree with you. You and the others will pay for the blood you've shed over the years, even if no one cares to see it.'

I raised my sword to defend against his attack. He swung his conjured battleax with amazing power, slamming me into a wall of a tree pod. I blasted through the storefront, sending an explosion of stakes and splintered wood wildly in all directions. I summoned the willpower to stand after that and charged out after Andalf. The Altmer swung his ax again, and I flipped over, twisting my body and flying above his head. He reached up as I carried myself above him, but I kicked his hand away and landed on his behemoth sized shoulders. I surprised him with my quickness when I whipped out a knife and raced it towards his head. But it wasn't easy killing an agent of the Tam'Akar. The conjuration master grabbed my foot and slammed me down to the wooden ground with a loud cracking. I yelped at the pain, but there was no time, I had to endure; I had to survive. I swung my sword upward, slicing away a patch of skin from his arm. He reeled back and staggered into a group of bystanders trying to run clear of the battles.

Elren's fight with Liemo raged on as powerful lightning strikes caused a calamity across the entire quarter. Discharged bolts destroyed the surrounding area, leveling anything they touched. I focused on my own battle. Andalf recovered, swinging his ax back and forth. With a sword, bolstered by its enchantment, I blocked and parried, singing the beautiful melody of the sword song. I heard it clearly, and it made me smile with glee. Finally, with magicka empowered blast, Andalf knocked me into a fountain at the center of the bough-lane. I quickly summoned Twilight Talon's ward, and with a magically induced sprint, he slammed into me, putting me through the entire fountain. Water rained down onto the ;ane. The Halo Quarter was starting to look more like a battlefield and less like a place where Bosmer and all citizens came for a getaway. The entire bough began to quake. Stakes shot out of the tree; splinters of wood broke free. Leaves rain down from high above.

I strafed back towards Andalf. I needed to end this quickly, or more people were going to get hurt. I lunged in with my sword, but he was ready. With a single, brutish hand, he smacked me away. I flew yards out into the air. Stabilizing myself, I drew two throwing knives between my fingers and let them fly true. Andalf conjured a shield around one arm and let the knives hit it. I landed, gasping for Aetherius for my breath. Andalf was tough, and it was going to take serious calculations to defeat. Behind me, the Leucrota still battled with the giant Ice Atronach. The creature from another realm was so massive, I could feel Falinesti's branch sway underfoot. It looked entirely impossible to defeat, but I would've rather take my chances with the atronach than the one that conjured it.

'I could see how you were able to kill my men,' Andalf said, dissipating his battleax. Instead, he summoned two shortswords. 'You're good for a little teeny child. They make them strong here in Valenwood, don't they?' A savage smile flittered across his face. 'It gets me excited.'

'You're going to die here, Andalf.' I withdrew the badge of the Watchmaster and took my stance. 'Prepare yourself.'

Andalf scoffed and wiped the blood from a gash on his cheek. He ran his tongue over his hand. We both pounced on each other like ferocious Senche-Lions. His form was damn near perfect, but that was as expected from the King of Alinor's personal guard. Not only was he a master conjuror, but an adept swordsman. We went blow for blow. Our exchanges rang out, his spectral swords against my Iron-Bark shortsword and Twilight Talon. Andalf switched his grips to an underhand style, increasing the speed of his attacks. I garnered room between us and pushed in as hard I mortally could. All the while, beneath us, the ground cracked and fissured. Lights from the city within the bough filtered upward and, in some parts, I could see the people underneath scrambling to get away from the hailstorm of tree debris that must've been falling on them. I slipped underneath Andalf's double strike and elbowed the beast in his breastplate. He staggered backward, grunting loud. Twisting around, my blades met his with increased intensity.

A crack advanced across us. I jumped up into the air. A terrible mistake. Andalf launched fireballs at me, and it took every nimble muscle in my body to move out of their way. Finally, one slammed into me, and I fell, halfway on fire. When I finally opened my eyes, Andalf was flying full force at me. Without thinking, Twilight Talon's runes lit with brilliant violet light, and a double-layered ward sprung just before the crash. _Crunch._ The ground gave in, and we plummeted in the bough tunnel inside the branch. My ward dissipated, but it gave me more than enough time to recover. I sprung to action and managed to cut through several conjured weapons as they came flying from the spell held in Andalf's hand. He laughed demonically as an array of spectral weapons flung from the spell with no end. Twilight Talon's bolstered blade made short work of magicka, cutting into the spells with ease. Without warning, a spectral chain, fired just a bit lower, wrapped my feet, sending me sprawled out like a captured animal. I sliced myself free before he leaped into the air swinging a greatsword this time. Before I knew it, he landed on my shortsword.

Andalf staggered backward, and I came to crawl to get away, seizing the opportunity to recover. My skin tingled before I could do anything as a maniacal laughed escaped the Altmer.

I turned over nearly lying on my back. '…What the Oblivion are you,' I muttered, breathlessly.

Andalf pulled the blade free and tossed it to the side. 'I am your undoing, Bosmer.' He clasped his hands together and let free a series of doorways to Oblivion. In each portal to the dark realms, a Fire Atronach appeared.

I counted five atronachs. 'What… the… fuck? How is that possible?' The sheer amount of magicka needed to manage these creatures of Oblivion would have killed anyone else.

'Have you prepared yourself?' He let out another boisterous laugh.

I spat and struggled to a stand. Twilight Talon reverberated with power as if it was an excited child about to eat his favorite food. The first atronach came at me with its fiery claws. I twisted around it, cutting its arm free of the body. In its confusion, I came around and lunged Twilight Talon through its back. The next one came angrily, I cut that one's head off. The remaining three decided to go for a team effort. I flew in, free as a bird dodging their fires as they blasted around me. The flames erupted with a roar, catching on any and everything it touched. Surrounded by the flaming creatures, I spun like a top and cut them all down in one strike. Andalf gritted his teeth and growled. He raised his hand to conjure more, but I sped into it and kinged my sword through his palm. It was time to end this. Desperately trying to heal, he found himself depleted of magicka. Three throwing knives took him to the ground.

I made slow moves towards his gurgling body. Those cold, yellow eyes looked up at me. He tried to say something through gritted teeth, flushed with red.

'You could've just done right by the Bosmer,' I said. 'Now you lay here defeated.'

I pushed Twilight Talon down into his chest. His eyes rolled away. Andalf the Conjurer will never cast another spell again.

The damage was done. Fire ate away at the tree at an alarming rate. The bough broke with long fissures splintering along the base. Along the ground, an opening ripped through the branch's walls. I climbed through and out onto the Halo quarter on a collapsed part of the bough. On the outside, it was far more damaged than in. Billows of smoke rose into the air, choking the atmosphere of the Graht-Oak. It doesn't matter if people believed Y'ffre's spirit lived within Falinesti; no matter how big of a Graht-Oak it was. It was still a tree, and trees burn.

Sultel and the Leucrota limped broken to the quarter's end. The Ice Atronach disappeared with Andalf's death. Still, so many people were left trying to escape the branch. Flames scoured the tree's bark and turned anything it touched to blackened cinders.

Down the grain, Elren still battled with the Tam'Akar youngling. This was too much to bear. I couldn't leave Elren. Both opponents seemed wounded in their fight. Blows came slower, but the battle still raged on furiously.

 _Crack_. The world shifted.

'Elren!' I roared.

 _Crack._

For a moment, Elren glanced back at me and smiled. It wasn't the usual smile that I loved, but a sad one full of guilt and sorrow. Elren raised his sword towards Liemo, and a flash of light so bright it nearly burned my eyes out of their sockets.

The world shifted again, but this time, it didn't stop. I looked back to see the base of the bough far above me now. My body pressed by sheer adrenaline. We were falling, the world racing away from the sky evermoving, burning.

Thunder boomed, and lightning struck. Then, in a moment's cry, everything went black.


	41. Break

_Rogues are simply warriors that battle against fate and destiny._

* * *

Chapter 41: Break

The lightning and thunder jolted me awake, wishing I was dead. Anything other than here and now. How could it have come to this? The way the rain pattered against the mud, against my armor and my skin, against the world. They were like tears of the god, our god. Y'ffre mourns for us all now.

Purpose is blended in life's tragedies. We live for the connections we make, for the paths we set for ourselves on this journey of life. Each bend and turn become heartache; each obstacle, a challenge. I tried to change a path that was already set for me. Looking towards the shadow instead of the light, stigma instead of glory, it all represented something I didn't want to become. I wanted to grow up with the type of pride that opened the heart.

I stared down into the rivers of rainwater rushing like the years that have gone by since setting foot that night in the forest. That undying urge ferrying me here across the years, to this moment, to what I've become. Can't you feel it? Can anyone else feel this power that coursed through these veins; the purpose that it leaves me? This blood, _my_ blood was like a staple for my soul in this harsh reality. The plane of Mundus spread out before my waiting hands for me to throttle it dead. Was I dying? Did the divines rope me back to this realm just so I can feel every bit of this pain? Did they decide to watch me suffer before they arrested my soul and locked me away in the dark planes of Oblivion, cursed to wander the Void for the rest of eternity?

More blood… Dripping and dripping with the rain. So heavy. This blood was my life, given for Valenwood, no, for all Tamriel. But this blood can't stop the ocean, but maybe it'll stop the river.

My hands dangled weakly at my sides.

A single break in the tone of the storm. A whisper in an opera. The story of a girl crying for help. Dark shadows were my solace. These shadows. Approaching a reality, harshly exampled in life. Approaching me.

'What have I done?' The words bounced nowhere. I thought they'd reach no one. But my life has become wins and losses, not understanding that I am a villain, not a hero like my mother, or my father, my tutor…or even what my enemy once was.

I've laid too many last straws from the bale that the camel was already a dried carcass. I wasn't trying to stop catastrophe; I _was_ the catastrophe.

The rain drowned out their calls. It drowned out the dying. I tuned in to the dripping of blood, my blood. I watched as it rolled down the stake piercing my shoulder in rivulets, briefly pausing at the tip before dripping away into a river of rainwater running feverishly under from where I hang. If I did die here who would stand in my place to challenge Monsotar or stop the Tam'Akar from their inquisition? Who would be the dam to stop the tide? With what little energy I had left, I could barely swivel my head to gain a full understanding of what circumstances pinned me on Arkay's dark door. The dark skies cried for me. A torrential downpour mourning the grave wound left on the Father tree. It broke. The entire Halo quarter broken off plunged straight for Nirn. There must've been hundreds of citizens left on the bough before it detached from the body of Falinesti. And I was there to see it all.

The rain brought about a sweet smell of sugar or honey, or something close it. Golden globs of sap bled from long broken timber scattered as far as my eyes can see. Large trenches were dug by the collision of the bough, gargantuan stakes of wood protruded into the stormy, night sky. The glow of Falinesti's Graht-Oak leaves faltered as their supply of life has been severed. I was pinned to a beam as tall as ten elves by a shard. My options were limited to pulling myself free one way that was seven feet, or somehow muster the strength to pull the splinter free. Both didn't sound like it would feel very good.

Thunder boomed as its cousin streaked across the sky in a neon display. I was going to die if I didn't do, at least, something. I didn't want to move. If I laid here and allowed my blood to run away with the rainwater, all my problems would vanish right then and there. But how would I face Milkar, Aranwen, or Esmond in Aetherius? How could I face Ceril or Sickle Ear? Or Mother—

'Ban Daar's quiver have it!' I cursed.

I dug my hand in a gob of sparkling sap. The goldish orange substance stuck to my fingers and left a tingle on my fingertips. 'This stuff is supposed to heal, right Esmond?' I asked the sky. It answered with thunder. I smothered the thick, sticky sap around the wound's open. It stung for a short while, but this was nothing compared to the pain I've caused everyone else. The lack of blood filched any remaining strength I had. But I couldn't stop here, death was far too convenient. If I can't fix Valenwood, then I fix what I've broken.

With a quick promise to further my studies in alchemic ingredients, I reached with both hands and held onto the splinter. I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw until it hurt. With all my strength, I pulled and pulled until the protrusion began to slip. Blood spilled in mass. Finally, with a jolt, it came free, sending my body plummeting into the mud below. A cross between an angry grunt and a cry escaped me. I hated this. I hated the pain I needed to endure. I just wanted to go home—to sleep—to just do what I wanted to do. 'Help!' the grating of my voice sent me into a coughing fit.

'Help—' Down on the ground, horrors festered in dark crevices and under heavy piles. My soul cried for them as theirs hollered for preservation. I moved towards a wall of a broken tree. The wood a splintered mess, thumping underneath, they cried. I could cut them out, free them from death in a wooden tomb, but my sword, my Twilight Talon, was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't save them.

'I'm sorry,' I said against the bark. 'I'm so sorry.' A hand reached from underneath, and I held it. I felt the skin of the trapped, a woman, small and delicate.

I fell backward, weakened, and helpless as the rain fell hard. I held that hand until it went limp in my grasp. Over the distance, I had to hold onto the hope that I wouldn't die here. And that I would find Elren alive. Nothing else could matter at that moment. In this darkest night, I needed to find Elren.

My vision swirled like a storm pounding in my head, around me, against my chest.

What makes an elf? Bones, flesh, and soul. A power of heart. Knowledge in mind. We're merely ticking away towards death, never really making an impact on Auriel's clock. For our hundred-year lifespan, two hundred, four, or five hundred years—from young to old—we have nothing to show for it aside from the love that has transformed into hate and fear.

Nothing was ever right with me. I didn't understand it myself. There wasn't a soul that could understand me. What I wanted from this world, or what it wanted from me. 'Which way?' I limped down a ridgeline filled with smashed wood.

'Wait, help.'

I swirled around towards a small voice that called out. The broken pieces of tree limb cascaded around the boy's body like a wooden tomb. Half his body trapped; his upper half exposed to the storm. He sported soft eyes and a shock of dark brown hair plastered down by the rain. In one moment, I saw Elren. A flicker of a second later, that image was gone.

'Stay still,' I told him.

He bobbed his head, his eyes threatening to shut. 'I…will…'

I slipped my fingers between a crevice and pulled on the wooden slab. It loosened, but my feet gave away in the slick mud. I didn't let up, with a quick reposition I pried it back, and the boy slipped out. His pale complexion spoke of Colovian descent, but his hard angles, slender shoulders, long and thick legs gave inklings of a Nibenese father.

He stumbled ten paces before slipping under in the mud. 'You'll live,' I told him.

'Who are you? I have to find—'

'I'm not anyone you want to know, kid. I'm just a shadow cursed to walk in darkness.' Before I could say anything more, the boy tried to stand again.

'You should rest…' I only helped him because the tears of guilt burned hot streaks through the caked mud under my eyes.

'No…they'll find me,' he whimpered. 'I was… stealing. Help.'

'I'm sure whoever is looking for you doesn't really care for it all that much now.' There was a gore-caked body congealed in a corner, studded by dozens of splinters. 'Even so, even I can't find who I'm looking for.'

The imperial boy's head began fumbling in panic. 'Please… the Tam'Akar, they're taking people away. They'll be back. Maybe they saw?' Big brown eyes glistened in the dull glow of the dying branch, through the atmospheric, chilling rain.

I took him at his shoulders, ignoring the hardened sap over my wound cracking under the strenuous angle I put it in. 'You saw the Tam'Akar here?' His eyes widened.

'Yes,' he admitted and pointed towards the of Falinesti, sprawling with its roots like massively steep hillsides. 'They're taking people to the dark place…they took a boy.'

'What did the boy look like?'

'I…I couldn't tell but… he had armor like a wildling.' He started to shake. 'I don't want to die.'

I shook my head, sending a spray of rainwater splattering onto the human. 'They won't harm you. They won't be harming anyone else!'

Released from my grasp, he limped away into the shadow, clinging to the darkness. The night was alive with the sounds of death. I moved quickly through the fog. Elren's torture attempting to crawl into mind; cursing me with images of pain and misery.

The relentless downpour drowned out the wails of survivors, but their cries were as loud in my ears as if they were no more than inches away. In the rain, no one can see you cry. No one can hear you sobbing. Just above the rigged grooves of the ground, sketched in by the falling of the branch, the Sacro Quadrant loomed. There wasn't much significance to the quadrant. The snaking roots crisscrossed each other, creating pools of shadow. Maybe, for just rumors and conjecture, there were inklings of truth behind the secret locations of the Thalmor. Places where they brought their prisoners for questioning. Everyone knows what they've been doing, but no one was brave enough to speak out against it. I'm not everyone. My enemies knew they were my enemies because I made them aware of it. I would burn Aridiil until he is nothing but a pile of dust for the rats to play in.

At the fringe lines of Falinesti's rootway, a gnarled mass of crux vine manages to grow out in the wild parts of the Father Tree. Despite the massive city in which the Graht-Oak harbored, a lot of the tree was wild. A world that is kept unexplored due to its dangers that dwell within. I pushed through the line, allowed the hook briar too cling on my leathers; I didn't let it hold me back, though. Nothing could stop me. I entered the blackness with the smell of dirt wafting around me. And the hints of char manifested through the wooden cave as if a fire atronach marked its territory like some mutt.

No security. No standing guard to hide their atrocities in a dark place. It smelled like the Tam'Akar alright. I walked in with a slight concern of traps, but there couldn't have been. Aridiil was a master at his craft, but he was no home singer; even he couldn't work the plant life. The thick walls inside the root were dauntingly thick and alive with critters glowing along the path. Strafes of fungi grew in every corner and crevice, but it was largely clean for a natural dwelling. Signs of continuous usage. The smell of magicka ever present.

The corridor ended in a small alcove fitted with a row of bookshelves and a single desk. Nothing that spoke torture or experimentation, but you couldn't always trust your eyes to see what is supposed to be hidden. My destination was the desk, covered in a dead vine that snapped with a single touch. Unused. But to be abandoned, this placed seemed a little too clean. The books upon the shelves were too tarnished and decrepit to be of use to anyone. I decided this place was all but a front. And not a very good one.

I started pulling books from their place. Piling them up at my foot in a wild mess. Dust of spores clouded the room's atmosphere. The flow of air shot into the corridor. In a dead room, dust falls straight down, no flow to ride on, but not here. One was present. Which meant—

A single row was left. I pulled one book out, and clicking music resounded. The shelf began ticking over to one side, revealing another corridor.

'Jackpot,' I muttered.

If the brought Elren anywhere, it had to be here. Call it a rogue's intuition.

On the other side, laid a room of twisted metal contraptions. Oddly enough, they were primitive devices used in the second era interregnum. My anger only grew when I walked past rusted cages with bone dust scrapped at the bottom. None looked as if they were used in centuries. This place was a catacomb of death.

The next room was built on a foundation of madness. Braziers of glowing fungi illuminated dark corners, but the wholesale signs of recent use were evident. Blood still slick with sheen oiled these newer torture devices. A body swelling with rot was stapled to a table by needled clips twitching alive with maggots. From the look of terror on its face, I had no desire to share its fate.

Before I could press on, in the darkest corner, the shadow moved. It was a quick bound lurch, the kind you do when trying to break a bind. I sound quickly with my shortsword in hand. 'Who's there?'

'No…Leila. You shouldn't be here.'

'Elren?' With panic in my step, I darted over to a slab table made of rough stone.

Elren lay on the cold thing, his armor in fringed tatters. His sword arm clutched in a full painful brace; dozens of hooks held it in place. Tears were brought to my eyes at the horrific sight. 'No. No. No! Elren, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.'

He struggled to move, but the hooks dug deeper into his flesh. There was no way he'll leave this thing without sacrificing his arm. 'You must leave. They'll return.'

'I'll fucking kill them all!' I barked. They won't get away with this, I swear.'

Blood spat from his mouth. 'Your sword…they have our swords.'

I followed the path of Elren's eyes towards a shelf. There, Twilight Talon and Spell Thorn sat dormant without the touch of their owners' will. I ran over, reaching out for them. A tendril of supercharged lightning magic blasted the table to ruination, sending me sprawling across the chamber.

'I don't think so.'

I stumbled to my feet, blood leaking from a new wound across my forehead. 'Aridiil, you bastard!'

The Altmer charged another spell in his palm. 'From the very first day, I've done nothing but underestimate you, Leila Lockharte. I allowed you to live over and over as you grew stronger with every day. I thought that perhaps you would come to your senses faster than your mother, but I was wrong.'

'You're going to die here!' I cried.

'I'm done treating you like a child. I won't make the same mistakes I did with your mother.' He walked closer. 'Andalf and Liemo didn't deserve the deaths they were giving. It's time you understand what it means to sacrifice for the greater good of elvenkind.'

I let out a shrill laugh. 'You see? You keep spouting out this self-righteous nonsense, you failed to realize that our standards of the greater good are defined differently, Aridiil. You believe setting up a war with the empire will all elvenkind, but you will only doom us. You will doom Valenwood to a fate we didn't ask for, and at what cost? Just so you can prove that we're better. That we serve better gods? The lives you would sacrifice isn't worth a single septim for your war.'

Aridiil shook his head slowly. 'Then it's a good thing not a single Septim is alive to stop us.'

He unleashed a fury of fire from his hands. I leaped back, narrowly dodging the immolation. The floor seared black underfoot, the smell of char thickened in my nostrils. I darted towards him, whipping a knife from my sleep and into my hand. A massive stream of lightning stormed at me. My body moved too slow; too weak in blood loss to do any good. The spell hit squared in my chest. The numbness took over as I slammed into the barkwall.

My heart thrummed in my chest, limbs tingling down to the smallest nerves. He had me.

'Watching your life slip away would be the single most satisfying event I will ever witness. I should've killed your mother when I had the chance. Perhaps it wouldn't have come to this.'

'You once fought as an ally alongside my mother,' I said breathlessly. 'Why do you fight against Valenwood now?'

'My goal has always been for the prosperity of the Aldmeri Dominion.'

'You lie! Mother never fought for your cause. She wanted the people to decide how to live their lives on their own terms. The Daedra threatened that, so she destroyed them. Even after the Oblivion Crisis, she conspired to end the likes of you.'

'Enough talking!' Aridiil's hands crackled with power. 'It's time for you to join her.'

I climbed on wobbly legs. I dove into Aridiil with all the strength I could muster and slammed him into a wall. He kicked me back and landed a hefty blow to my face. The agony escaped me in a breathless whimper. I was already on the side I needed. I darted for Elren's and my weapons and took up their enchantments against the High Elf.

He laughed. 'Of course, you rely on powers that you don't understand. The weapons created by the Thornbush clan were always meant to deliver us the prophecy.'

'The prophecy?'

His eyes narrowed, and the slightest hint of a grin tugged at his lips. I charged in quickly. You couldn't hesitate to attack. Not with him. Not like this. Not at the height of his power. Lightning struck out from his palm, I raised Spell Thorn as the shock spell blurred out the form of the world with brilliant light. I slammed the sword down into the root's ground with all my might and grabbed onto Twilight Talon's hilt with both hands. My roar, ferocious; a battle cry for the ages. Twilight Talon hummed to life, saturated with power. It's violet glow seemingly sucking the light from around us. My blade collided with an invisible force emanating from Aridiil as if his very essence projected a wall of magicka. The ward only cracked under pressure from Twilight Talon. I retreated away, fetching Spell Thorn.

Aridiil has always been far too powerful for me to fathom. I've mentioned his vast pool of magicka on countless occasions. A wellspring so deep, it was only conceivable to call it bottomless. Such power could level armies. An Altmer like him should not have to strive for someone else's legacy. Not as desperate as it had been.

The pupils of his eyes retreated into the back of his head. The small hairs on his pale-gold flesh began to raise. A chill ran down my spine. Where there was nothing but still and stale air, winds began to whip around the chamber. The crackling of energy grew from a low volume to a boisterous crunching. A dark webbing of veins crawled up from his hands, over his neck, and over that solemn face of his.

I peered back at Elren who'd lost consciousness from blood loss. He was drained of life. So was I. This next spell was something remarkable in the world of magic. It was more than mastery. I formed a stance of cross swords and stood directly in front of Elren. Twilight Talon's second rune activated and a thick ward form over us. Spell Thorn crackled and bolstered the ward with spikes of power.

'You need this, Aridiil,' I said. 'You need this win. Or else you lose. Not just to me, but to my father, to Tutor Rollyn, and especially to my mother!'

Desperation curled on his lips. He reached down into the depths of his power. He garnered all the magicka his body could withhold. The next blast was going to be his strongest. 'Fine,' I murmured to myself. 'If you want to use your full power, then so will I.'

Twilight Talon awakened all three runes, aglow with violet light. Spell Thorn sparkled with tendrils of unbridled magicka. That power from Arenthia all those days ago revealed itself in an orb of energy deep in the pits of my being. I killed over a hundred soldiers with this power and never saw it again, but now it has returned to me with the fury of the divines. Aridiil was probably the strongest enemy I've ever faced, if I wanted to win, I needed to unleash this power no matter what.

'Gods forgive me.'

Aridiil became a pool of blinding light. A sparkling star here on Nirn. ' **Give me your all!** ' And he let it go. A power so strong it rippled through the fabric of Mundus itself. It crashed into my ward, leaving a weave of cracks, threatening to break it. I held it; my will power expanded to great heights. I couldn't lose here. I will not let Elren or myself die. Not here and not like this.

The blasts were deafening. My body strained and poured with sweat. My heart thudded hard against my chest; my roar powerful. Aridiil's spell began to scatter in all directions, ripping sections of Falinesti's root open to the storm outside. Rain poured in. A beam of light reached towards the heavens flashing against the dark clouds. Everyone stood at my side. Their love, their will to win reaching me through what makes the world.

'This is it!' I pushed back. A screeched ripped my eardrum apart. Aridiil reverberated, held for a moment, then stopped. Both swords lit with bubbling energy. I jumped and let it all go. He wasn't ready for it, having spent all his magicka. The magic crashed into him the fury of a thousand angry Bosmer and sent him careening out the root.

All my life, I've pushed and pushed from the light and through the twilight. I ran full force into the darkness of the night, my night. There wasn't anyone or anything that would stop me. I was the Raven to usher in the night.

I quickly turned to Elren. The torturous contraption still held his arm in its sinister grip. He groaned as I tugged slightly. 'Elren…'

'Just go,' he said softly. 'That won't stop him for long.'

My eyes watered. 'No, I won't leave you here.'

'It's not going to come free, Leila.'

The harder I pulled, the deeper the hooks drove themselves into his arm. 'Dammit!'

'It's over for me.'

'That's not true. I need you, Elren. I need you… please.'

Elren smiled. That beautiful smile, I knew so well. 'Then you'll have to take it…'

'Elren!'

'There's not much time. He's already returning, Leila.' I could feel his aura growing closer.

My heart wrenched all my sorrow to the surface. My head swirled, twisting the world around me. 'It's your sword arm.' The thought is something truly unfathomable.

'A small price to pay for my sins,' Elren said, nodding slowly. 'I've lost.'

'No! No. Don't say that Elren. We haven't lost anything,' I cried. 'This is it. This is what Milkar wanted for us. To fight the people that have tortured Valenwood for far too long.'

Elren shook his head slowly. 'How can we fight something we're slowly becoming? So much death resting on our own shoulders.' His eyes met mine. 'Either leave me here to die, or…'

'There's no way I'm leaving you alone.' I brandished Spell Thorn before him. Hundreds of paces away a grand explosion flashed through the sky. Aridiil was on his way. The Altmer's bottomless power reaching a height that I felt in the pressure of the air. It stung my skin. 'This is all my fault,' I said, turning to Elren. 'One day, I know you'll realize that I put us, all of us, in this situation with my own hatred. One day you'll hate me, but when that day comes, I want you to take it all out on me. Save it all up, so that I can shoulder it all myself.'

'Why?'

'Because I love you, Elren.'

Spell Thorn arched through the air. Thunder boomed. Lightning crackled.

* * *

Elren's limp body was light over my shoulders. Still, my leg's fatigued took control of my movements. My mind and body took different paths, unconnected in my escape. My vision blurred, but I pressed on. His shallow breathing spoke silent words of guilt in the smoking ruins of his soul. We were both broken now, Elren. Two broken children growing up in a broken world. We have walked black paths; my Arenthia and his Falinesti. Dark events that shape us as rogues. However, Elren's can lead back into the light, not mine. From my father's molding to my unleashed anger and frustration in the Silver Crescents, and even working under Monsotar, the darkest shadow was always cast by my own soul.

The forest surrounding Falinesti northern border was thick. It took everything in me to push through on the forest floor. Ravines traced the land as if the River Strid branched out like a tree.

'Why is it now that you run?' Lightning bolts stripped through the forest severing the brush in the avenues that separated the trees, illuminating the darkness.

Aridiil's magic was on par with the Divines. There was no way in Oblivion anyone else could be this powerful. I spun around, Elren clinging to me, and absorbed the spell with Twilight Talon's blade. The sword shuddered in my hand. The burn crept up my forearm.

'You've brought this upon yourself, daughter of Ara.' His voice was magically projected through the forest. Wildlife fled at his command of power, the trees bent from the pressure emanating from his being, all seemed lost. 'You were never going to be on my tier. You're just a meddling little child with delusions of grandeur. What is it with you? Was it Esmond's beckoning? Did your own brothers delude you into believing that you would change anything for Valenwood? To challenge the Tam'Akar meant to challenge the Thalmor's might.'

Beside me, a tree shuddered. The ground beneath it began to rip, causing tremors to shake the world. Roots ripped from the soil, gargantuan tubes of life snaking out from the ground. My heart raced, and the fear told me to move. So, I did. That was only common sense. My feet burned with every step. To move such a massive object with the command of magicka was unheard of. I was at a lost. The disastrous booming for a falling tree could haunt anyone. The deafening cracks could be heard a mile out as a sad song of death. Dust clouds obscured the immediate area, lumber scattered in all parts. But I kept moving.

Ice spikes cleared the cloud, piercing the ground at my feet. Another directly aimed for Elren made me spin around. I sliced it in half with my sword and absorbed the magicka. Twilight Talon cried in my grip. It was at its limit.

Aridiil burst from his telekinetic destruction as if flying on wings made of magicka. I wrapped a ward around me but could barely hold as the brunt of Aridiil's magicka careened into it. 'You killed Andalf and Liemo. They knew loyalty, and they gave their lives for their duty to the Aldmeri Dominion. That is something you will never know.' He raised his hand, and another beam of energy exploded from his palms. 'Die so that you may be with your forsaken mother.'

I pushed on.

In the distance, an echoing series of ravaging ravines roared at the edge of the tree line. These forests were marred with ravines crisscrossing along the land like scars on a warrior's back. I exploded out the washing of a tree line bejeweled with jagged outcroppings of eroded stone. The height held a particularly grievous fall. 'Shit.' I slid Elren from my shoulders. 'It's time I make my last stand, Elren.' Pain wrote its tale on his face. 'I loved you from the first time I laid eyes on you.' The amount of blood loss already took his consciousness.

Aridiil walked calmly onto the wash. 'Death by river is an easier route,' he said, pointing towards the yawning chasm behind me.

'I'm not one for drowning,' I said. 'I'll take my chances against one of the Circle of Seven. Far more glory in it.'

'That arrogance is why I want to destroy you! Time and time again, you've interfered with things you don't understand.'

Tutor Rollyn taught me how to sense one's aura. To simplify, a being's aura is how you can gauge their magical prowess, vigor, and strength. Aridiil's aura flared hot and overbearing as if the sun were to push down on you from above as Father's felt like more of a gale wind in a typhoon. There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. There was only the acceptance of my fate. Aridiil was right, I didn't understand any of this: Why the Ghost Flame was so important, why the Royal Tribes were hunted, why Valenwood allowed people like Monsotar to rise to the level they are. But what did it all matter now? The people I loved were hurt by all this conflict, and they thought it was best to fight—so I will fight.

I took a step forward, Twilight Talon in hand. This was all I could do to protect Elren and myself. A single sword made of ebony and a particularly strong form of wood. And an enchantment that can transcend gods. Twilight's aura was a fluctuating stream of power, a light touch, but somehow the most dangerous thing known to anywhere.

Twilight Talon's ward bubbled around me. The elastic magicka glowed a strong violet hue. This sword, this power was ready to protect me one last time. Even in the face of imminent death, I manage to muster a smile. I stared into those golden eyes and felt a pang of peace within them. Everyone had their pain, Aridiil included. What drove him into the darkness, to this moment in his life, was peculiar to me. Perhaps it would connect us on a deeper level.

'I'm ready,' I said.

And he let it all go.

A beam of pure magicka slammed into the ward and broke through without much effort. I braced with small the effort my body would allow, but I was tired. So very tired. Twilight's last rune shone brightly as it drank the magical blast. Its blade emitted a blinding light, brighter than the sun itself.

This anger was pure. I could appreciate that. For I am but a vessel to carry their hate: my friends and my enemies. I would shoulder it all alone. My connection to the ground loosened. The dirt crumbling away by sheer power and force. My legs trembled with the effort to keep a foothold. This was it, a final defiance. The last rebellion.

My sword began to reverberate under pressure. Hairline cracks stretched over the blade down to the hilt. I couldn't hold it any longer. But I didn't have to. In a breath of time, the ground gave way, and I was floating over the ravine. Twilight Talon fell away from my hand. Elren's body went after it. In one moment, Aridiil was only a few paces away, the next, I watched those eyes grow smaller and smaller, darker and darker. In the end, the water took me and filled my lungs.

Everyone says death can be painful, but this… I was okay with this. A sudden peace overcame me. Serene darkness.

Now all I could see were their faces in the empty void. Father's face, Milkar's and Aranwen's, and Mother's. I focused on her …my mother. She didn't know who I was, she didn't know my pain. And even though time and space separated us, we loved each other.

To be hated or to hate, someone will hate again. To send or to be sent to Oblivion, someone will be sent there again. I have witnessed this cycle repeatedly. We cannot stop it. It cannot be broken.


	42. What We Were Taught

_On that day, seven warriors stared into the dark Void. Aridiil stared a little longer._

* * *

Chapter 42: What We Were Taught

'Your wounds won't heal if you keep squirming around, girl.'

'I swear on the divines, I had him. I swear. I swear.' I slammed my fist on the ground.

I laid there for almost two hours, unable to accept that I lost to some youngling two years younger than I was. The kid was strong, but I was far more agile than he was. It only took a few good punches before I keeled over. It wasn't fair, and I wanted to be the best in the whole pit. The disappointed looks everyone gave me. Those staring eyes, mumbling words. They could all go to Oblivion with their judgments.

'You grew too arrogant in the end.' Rollyn threw more guar fat into the burning pit. The flickering light shivered over the ravines of old age.

'How could I have known he was so strong,' I said, feeling the point cut over my lips. I hurt bad. Black and blues marked my body. I think I even broke a rib.

'You do not listen very well. I've always told you to never underestimate your opponent, never overestimate yourself. You might be strong, but you need to realize in this world of Nirn, there are people younger than you, but stronger than me.' He leered at me, and I could feel myself retreating.

It's always been like that. I would stand to the tallest, the fastest, and the mightiest opponent, only to be outclassed time and time again. I was taught to hold within myself the courage to do so, but the humility to understand defeat. Consider me, the poor student. This pain made me stronger, it'll make me into a person that I saw fit.

If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. But if you don't fight, you can never win. I will never give up on life, no matter how bad I've been beaten. I will always stand up again and again until I stand triumphant over my enemies. I needed to believe in myself. Fitting my mother's shoes had always been my priority, but it wasn't my goal. It was theirs, so I needed to be strong, or even stronger, to show them that I had my own strength. I didn't need my mother's blood, nor my father's; I was strong on my own. Even then, when I experienced one of my first defeats, I knew I still needed to forge my own path.

Facing off against Aridiil? Not the brightest idea, especially for me—for who I was—the face he sees when he looks at me. Rollyn told me that I needed to know humility, but he also said I needed to know courage. But I'm just stupid. This whole rogue thing was just my stupid rebellious, delinquent, and downright juvenile mind taking hold of me. Now, where did it bring me? A darkness that I thought I could embrace. How stupid! How arrogant! Were our lives so simple to throw away; to get everyone killed?

" _You grew too arrogant in the end."_

How could have Ara of the Ghost Bow have been so humble, yet so powerful? Did she not understand the full weight of her position? When they paraded her, sowed her name in song, erected statues and monuments in her make, did she not realize that her power could not be stood again? Or perhaps that is the simple line that separated me from her. Despite the impossibility of standing in her boots, I still tried, in some semblance, to become her. It led me to the bottom of a river with my love dying beside me, and with the death of my brothers.

In my life, I made promises I couldn't keep, I shed the blood of many, and I've given my ancestors the souls of my enemies. These, my friends, are sins that I would take with me to the grave. I've hurt many people to save many more. Every day, we die a little only to be reborn different, older. We wear the same clothes and the same scars.

My body was numb, and I was lost in the standstill of time, for Auriel holds no bar against a simple mortal's soul. No claim to us as beings in a world he and the divine kin, the Et'Ada, have created.

I was born with the ability to learn in the edges of life and death. The realms of Arkay are spread wide, and it holds me there. Suspended in the waters of judgment where the Princes of Oblivion lay claim, and the Divines absolve, the steps I've taken in my path are no longer walked.

A flame revealed itself to me at that time. It wasn't gold flame full of warmth, but a cold one, violet and deceitful. This essence of the dark planets of Oblivion giving birth to raw, unbridled power harnessed in a multitude of ways by the chosen ones.

I remembered every book I've read, every battle plan taken by generals of old, every muscle needed to kill an elf, beast, or man. I learned to recognize every spell whispered on the lips of powerful mages. I thought myself strong and educated by way of studying. Countless moons swinging a sword, an ax, or polearm. Those long nights found in grand libraries breathing the dust of a tome long forgotten. I was unbearably wrong about it all.

Now I'm adrift in the darkness that I craved for so long. This cast emptiness has finally claimed me after years of yearning for it. What was it all for? What was my end game? I tried to make a dent in a world that needed to change. I tried to forge a path in a timeline played by heroes and villains.

I awoke with the warmth of a burn pit beside me. The thick, pungent aroma of guar fat lingered in the air brought back simple memories of a long-gone childhood. My armor and weapons sat to my right in hands reach as if someone knew me well. My eyes switched to the left as a body rested a few paces away, through the dim light, I recognized the soft slumber as Elren's. The tension in my muscles softened.

'Finally, the Watchmaster awakens.'

My reaction was instantaneous. I pulled a short, throwing knife from my bandolier and launched it towards the voice. It never hit its target; another knife thrown from the shadows collided midair with a clank. Hot shards of metal sparked from the collision.

'Your throw is still too lazy. I told you about those bad habits you have, and it seems you can't overcome them, girl.'

I gritted my teeth, and sat up, sighing a breath of frustration. 'Still lecturing me from the dead I see.'

A scraggly old laugh escaped the wrinkle old man's mouth. 'And what made you think I was dead, Leila?'

'There's no way my old tutor would have let me suffer for so long without coming to my aid,' I snapped. 'Or would he? Entertainment for the expense of my soul.'

Rollyn threw more guar fat into the glowing pit. 'You expect me to save you at every turn. I'm no longer your tutor, and you're no longer my pupil.'

I scoffed. 'Please.' I turned to Elren. 'How is he?'

'Better than you were,' Rollyn said, pushing himself into the flickering light. 'He's the one that pulled you ashore. You were drowned and almost gone by the time I arrived.'

'How long have I been out?'

'Three days.'

I slammed a fist against the hard bark beneath me. 'Damn it.'

Rollyn shook his head slowly. His age was prominent on his face. But the old Rollyn was still there. The Bosmer that taught me everything I knew lived on. 'Have you learned nothing?'

'I didn't want to follow what you or my father planned for me. I followed my own path and don't need a lecture from you of all people.'

'And where has that led you? You make enemies with the Tam'Akar and try to topple an entire guild.'

'Following the lead of my brothers,' I said. 'Even so, they threaten Valenwood. I haven't seen you out there trying to make a difference. The so-called Circle of Seven have all but disappeared, and it's remaining survivors have done nothing.'

It was better to say that Rollyn's and my father's inability to stop their one-time comrade and mother's own pupils was their fault. In truth, it wasn't their responsibility. Although they've dedicated their lives to the safety of Valenwood. Both Monsotar and Aridiil were working in the parameters given to them by the hierarchy of Valenwood itself. A thieves' guild, although criminal in nature, is tolerated because they keep all other wannabe bands in check. And with the Thalmor regime reconstructing the Aldmeri Dominion, the Tam'Akar has only been enforcing their twisted rendition of the rule of law. In hindsight, I too was a criminal. To rebel against both conglomerates branded my brothers and me terrorists.

Rollyn's face flickered in the low light, but he slowly tipped his head. 'I taught you so much, and yet you've learned nothing.'

I sucked a gulp of air through my teeth. 'If that's what you believe, Tutor…'

Elren laid in a stable sleep. His chest rose slowly and fell as he exhaled. He looked serene in his sleep despite the anguish he must've felt. To be a Greenpact Bosmer turned away from his beliefs was one thing, but to have caused such a travesty to one of Valenwood's most prominent spiritual Graht-Oaks was another. I had to make sure he was not alone to blame. My ambitions caused this from the very beginning. If only I stayed my sword arm; if only I knew what I was up against before I made my move, perhaps my brothers would still be alive, and perhaps Elren would still hold his honor.

'Where's my sword?'

Rollyn said nothing. He leaned forward into the warm glow.

'At the bottom of the river, isn't it?' I inquired.

'We retrieved it,' Rollyn said.

'Where…wait we?'

He opened his eyes. 'Just how far have you come in terms of power?'

'A lot of questions being thrown around, and none of them are being answered.'

The leaf-veil to the small snugpod lifted. A robed figure framed the outside. In his hand, a small, withered blade on the flats of his palm. The wings that were once the crossguard stretched out warped and twisted, the talon pommel looked as if they were craggily nails of some wicked witch. But the most damaged of all was the blade. Nothing like it used to be; all its glorious, splendid beauty wilted away by fire. 'It's nothing like it was before.' He was an old Bosmer man. Almost as old as Rollyn, but I recognized the faltering voice. He stepped in, laying the sword beside me.

Augoth hadn't changed much. He seemed as old as Rollyn, but smaller, less of a build, whereas Rollyn youthful muscle remained clinging to him. I didn't know what I should've felt seeing these two before me, alive. The thought of hope, that little inkling of light in a realm of darkness sparkled slightly at a huge difference.

'Where in the Oblivion have you been?' I asked him.

'I fled west when I heard that the Silver Crescents had been defeated. I've been here since none of you returned to Shimmer Root.'

'I did return. I even tracked you towards the Dragonteeth mountains,' I said. 'It was a trap by the Tam'Akar.'

Rollyn raised his hand. 'It was better if Thornbush kept discreet. You became a Nightblade under Monsotar, and he couldn't do much in that time.'

I stared daggers into the old enchanter. 'I didn't have a choice in the matter. With both my brothers gone, I needed to find a different way to destroy the Thieves of the Wood.'

Augoth raised a finger. 'Precisely why I needed to hide.' He sighed. 'Look, we all had our roles.'

I shooed him away from me. But in the end, Augoth was right. There are two types of people in his world: The mad and cowards. Unfortunately, he was born with the character flaw of being sane.

I stared at what remained of Twilight Talon. It looked lighter than before. What remained was a warped thing of ebony metal. Nearly all its Iron-Bark was burned away. However, despite the extensive damages, it still retained an ominous strength to its blade, even its hilt still seemed sturdy enough to swing.

'It absorbed an excessive amount of magicka.' Augoth said. 'It couldn't handle it, but you shouldn't count it out of the fight, Leila.'

A peculiar twist punctuated Augoth's words. I need all the power I could get. I accumulated thousands of allies across a swing of different demographics. The Royal tribes, rebels in Monsotar's own camp, and the Ranger Guard. Currently, Monsotar commands a legion of Valenwood's deadliest criminals. Bosmer that sought retribution towards a world that chewed them up and spat them out with no mercy or remorse. Nightblades with abilities that no one has ever seen before. And yet, I couldn't stop the feeling that what I've built was enough. Twilight Talon was a different kind of beast. But so was Monsotar. I saw the true abilities my sword had to offer when I took the lives of a hundred Dominion soldiers at the command of the Tam'Akar. If I wanted to win, I needed it.

We both knew that he could be a funny old mer, but these are trying times. Completely different from back then when we all lived together in Shimmer Root. I couldn't shake the desperation emanating from him. I gave myself a quick intake of my surroundings to catch what little bearings I had. Whatever hideout these two lived in was extremely small. A snugpod in a nod spar on some tree north of Falinesti at the end of the Strid River. I must've drifted along that ravine for days before they found me because most ravines didn't reach the river for that long. Despite facing certain death again, I survived. It occurred to me that some deity, or at least a being with the power to pull the threads of destiny, was manipulating my life. I didn't like to think like that.

My wounds weren't fully healed. And they weren't going to heal fully any time soon, no matter how many apothecary concoctions I drown in. Pain struck me in twenty different ways as I tried to stand. It was a tedious task.

'You're still too weak,' Rollyn stood with me.

'Your concern is heart-warming, Tutor. But if you really cared, you would have come a calling a long time ago.' I said.

'It's because I cared that I didn't.'

I grunted and used a shelf for leverage. 'Too much left undone to be sitting in a cramped and musty old husk growing sour while my comrades are facing down a fire-breathing beast.'

Rollyn still had that warrior's build. Tightly wound muscle didn't get the message old age was sending it. His eyes were still sharper than ever, still drilling youth at everything he peered. What frightened me the most was that his essence bore on me like it had all those years before. When you're around someone for as long as I was around Tutor Rollyn, you forget the dent they make on the world. Imagine the difference between being Mother's student or being that Bosmer who married her. For me, Rollyn was the closest thing I had to a loving father, and I often forget that a century and a half ago, he fought armies alone and won. That in the rankings of the Circle of Seven, my mother was first, my father the second strongest, and Rollyn was the third strongest next to Aridiil.

'Leila, I know you must be in haste, but there are things… new things we must consider.' Augoth raised a hand towards me. The center of his palms was no longer scarred from overuse of his enchanting abilities.

'The fact that both of you were still alive? That Elren lost his gods-damned arm? That I've been unconscious for the past three days, and my army probably thinks I abandoned them?'

'The boy is ambidextrous, and we're not the only ones that still live.'

'Ambi—what? And… What?'

Rollyn picked up Twilight Talon and placed it on a small table.

I hadn't seen a table like that since the years I used to follow the ex-mercenary around Valenwood. Carved into its surface was a pentagram to represent each of the common schools of magic. A magicae orb sat nestled above a feyish skull. Inside the skull was a glowing gem spilling magical energies into the table's engraved shapes. A soul gem.

The soul gem. That's what separated Augoth from any other master enchanter. With his ability to cast enchantments on anything inanimate or living without a soul gem, he was able to create some of the most disastrous or advantageous weapons in Tamriel's history. I pulled my thoughts together. 'How do you know he's—'

'Elren is a child of the Royal Tribe, Red Moss. A tribe that can manipulate memories and passes on thoughts just by simple telepathy.'

I shook my head in disbelief. 'He can what?'

'Leila, you might want to take a seat again. Your world is about to get much more complicated.' Rollyn said, placing a hand on my shoulder.'

I sat down on the ground and glanced back at my friend. An uneasy void swelled in my stomach. The boy who I love the most in this world. He looked peaceful, undisturbed by the previous days' events. I turned to Rollyn and Augoth. My tutor glanced me but turned back to the arcane enchanter, the smell of burning wood filled the small dwelling.

'What do you know about the _Ghost Flame_?' Asked dear old Augoth.

An odd but good question. What _did_ I know about the _Ghost Flame_? Next to nothing, no doubt. But I did know a few things. It was powerful and not of this world. And that everyone and their mother was searching for it to garner power against their enemies. 'That there's some conspiracy around it,' I told them. 'What it meant; I don't know.'

The two old Bosmer glanced each other briefly. 'The Altmer would have us believe it a prophecy. And there are agents that are actively trying to fulfill this prophecy.' Augoth sat beside me.

'That's what Aridiil called it.'

Augoth nodded. 'The _Ghost Flame_ is but a single ingredient. In fact, it isn't the spell itself that they're looking for. It's what makes that spell that they are searching.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'What makes the spell?'

'The _Ghost Flame_ is simply a manifestation caused by your mother, Leila. But just like our spells here on Nirn, spells need energy. It's this energy, this… essence that the Tam'Akar are looking for.'

'It's called Cold Material,' Rollyn said, turning to us. 'The Divines created Mundus using certain materials. It's very fabric. But in Oblivion, in the Void, it's different. A different fabric used.'

'And this—Cold Material—is what was used to create the planes of Oblivion?' I asked.

'Not all of them,' replied Augoth. 'You see, when one possesses Cold Material, it can manifest differently for everyone. The Daedric Prince, Boethiah, took up Cold Material, and it became Attribution's Share. When your mother did…'

'Thus, the _Ghost_ _Flame_ was born,' Rollyn finished.

'What does Cold Material have to do with some prophecy?'

Augoth sighed and dragged his nails across his chin. 'Its connection with the realms of Oblivion, I would say. Using the _Ghost Flame_ , they could tear a hole into the Void and unleash a horde of Daedra.'

Aridiil said that he wanted Mother's power to combat the Empire; so that all elves could have liberation. But to use an army of Daedra? That was unspeakable. It went against every law of Tamriel. The provinces would never stand for the Aldmeri Dominion using Daedra to take over.

Rollyn finished whatever that occupied him at the arcane enchanter and stepped towards where I sat. 'It doesn't end there,' he began. 'To complete the prophecy, thousands of souls must be sacrificed to bring forth this horde of Daedra. We fear this may have been in the works since before the Oblivion Crisis.'

'Rollyn has a theory that the Thalmor ceased the Oblivion Crisis to rise to power, in turn, it gave the opportunity to cease all of Tamriel,' Augoth explained. 'A plan that would take centuries.'

'Altmer are long-lived,' I added. 'They could spare a century or two. But thousands of souls? They wouldn't be able to do that without anyone noticing, could they?'

Rollyn nodded. 'Damn near impossible. Especially if people like your father still lived. However, there is one way they could.'

'War.' Augoth shook his head. 'Start a war, and the Thalmor could kill as much as needed without even blinking.'

I shook my head. 'But that's not what Aridiil said. He mentioned that the _Ghost Flame_ would simply be a weapon against the oppression of the Empire.'

My tutor could have just said how much he pitied his old comrade. Instead, it was all written on the deep lines across his face. 'Unfortunately, Aridiil is simply a foot soldier in the grand scheme. A pawn moved by Lord Nethilvere.'

'Lord Nethilvere?' I inquired. 'I keep hearing that name, but who is that?'

'There are few Mer in the top echelons of the Thalmor you never want to come across. General Naarifin of the entire Dominion forces, Seedale Fort-Grazer, and Lord Nethilvere, who is the Grand Inquisitor of the Tam'Akar.'

More enemies to add to my list. When I joined the Silver Crescents, I never thought my life would evolve the way it did. I merely wanted to break off a path that wasn't fit for me. Instead, I rolled into a world of war, death, and darkness. Rollyn and Augoth continued to explain how truly befouled the situation was. Bits and pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together. In the bright days after Mother helped defeat the Oblivion gates in Arenthia, she saw something coming. It didn't matter how long it would take, she thought it was necessary to fight a long game. In the end, she found four promising children to take up her mantle. She created the Original Four. Monsotar, Esmond, Sultel, and Gazil. But she failed. That was the truth. She failed and created more problems than she solved. That aside, this Lord Nethilvere, Grand Inquisitor of the Tam'Akar sent Aridiil and his team over to Valenwood to complete his prophecy. Although Mother hid her _Ghost Flame_ away, that didn't stop Aridiil from hunting it down. Hundreds of Bosmer would die at his hand until he found it. Mother played the long game. She knew this world to be cursed. While she fought dangers of her time, she planned for the dangers of mine. But heroism is laden with irony. Her love for Valenwood was so strong, she created the darkness of today. When one loves as hard as she did, they must be ready to handle the hate it becomes.

'Cold Material is the key to it all,' Augoth said after a short while. 'Listen, we can still win this fight even if it seems impossible.' He chucked a thumb back towards the arcane enchanter. 'Your sword, and your mother's power. That's what we will put our faith in.' Without a moment's notice, he stood and walked over towards the enchanter. 'Cold Material is the fabric of which the Void derives its energy to power realms of Oblivion, right? Much like Magicka does here in Mundus and Aetherius. It reacts to one's soul and blood. For a Daedric Prince, it creates his plane of existence, for a soul like your mother, it creates the _Ghost Flame_. For you, it might be something entirely different. Who knows?' He shrugged.

'You're going to give me Cold Material like you gave it to mother.'

'Nope,' he chuckled.

'Why not? Not that I'm willing to accept it.'

'Well, Leila. It seems I've already given it to you.' He wagged his decrepit finger.

'Explain.'

'You've never noticed the similarities between your sword and your mother's Ghost Bow?'

'No.'

'Ara's manipulation of the _Ghost_ _Flame_ was superbly genius, but the powers it had was a staple.'

I raised three fingers in the air. 'Twilight Talon had three distinct powers. A bolstered blade, a wave of power that could blow down an army, and a ward that could block any attack. All three powers came in their own levels addressed by three runes across the crossguard.'

He laughed some more. 'And I suppose you didn't recognize the runes?'

I shook my head. 'I merely thought that's just how your enchanting worked.'

'There are no runes on Goldfire. Or even Spell Thorn here for that matter.' Augoth picked up Twilight Talon and held to the burn pit for better lighting. 'This sword was enchanted with Cold Material, just like your mother was.'

I barked laughter, but even I could tell it was more from shock than disbelief.

'However, it's much weaker than Ara's _Ghost Flame_.' Augoth finished. 'I believe the stress Aridiil put on the sword may have doubled its strength. Although it is still weaker than the power your mother possessed, you might be able to bring forth more of the Cold Material.'

'Will it be the same? Will it be the _Ghost Flame_?'

Augoth shrugged. 'Nothing is assured, Leila.'

A wave of relief breathed over me after hearing their explanation of the recent events here in Valenwood. New truths over and over; it made me sick to hear it. It seemed that everyone was holding back from me, and I couldn't get one truth from anyone. Outside the snugpod, we were nestled in a crossing of great boughs on top trees. Falinesti's height pillared in the distance. It looked wild, unburdened. It looked undamaged despite losing a limb because of our carelessness. All those people that died, their cries still echoed in my mind.

They'll take the command of Watchmaster from me. Many witnesses could figure who I was and where I was when the Father Tree broke. So many people gone; so many dead and for what? As with my mother, my love for Valenwood can, and most likely has created a deep hatred. Too many people are being sacrificed for this cause that the line between villain and hero has blurred significantly.

'Will you use that sword once more?'

I turned to my tutor. Growing up, I hated him, but now it's as if I yearn to be young again, traveling the forests at his side. 'More people will die.'

Rollyn's lips pursed into a fine line. 'It's an edge. I did teach you how to use those. Anything is a weapon.'

'I don't know if I can,' I said. 'I don't deserve to.'

'You must.'

'If Mother's power is the center of all this, then it wouldn't be a good idea. This world is not ready for the _Ghost Flame_ once more.'

'A war with the Empire is inevitable. No matter how strong you've become, you won't be able to stop it. However, you can save the grace of the Bosmer. All across Valenwood, people believe that we're a province of thugs and thieves, and we allowed these thieves to take over. It needs to change.'

'You've always wanted me to be a hero like Mother.' I looked Rollyn in those sharp eyes. 'But she created the Thieves of the Wood. She created Monsotar.'

'No, Leila! I wanted you to be better than her!'

'It's impossible!'

Rollyn shook his head in disappointment. 'That is not the warrior I raised. If not for Valenwood, but for your friend that stands in the middle of turmoil.'

'You don't…' The words halted in my chest choked down by a sob. 'You don't understand.'

'I loved your mother!' Rollyn stepped forward, tears in his eyes. I took a step back, hands over my mouth, eyes widened. 'I loved her… I would have done anything to take your father's place at her side. She was my entire world!'

The words came out breathlessly. 'I never knew how much—'

'From the very first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I loved her. But as close as I was to her, she was too far to reach.' That hardened warrior I once saw in Rollyn broke down. I finally saw him for what he truly was. Not a broken elf, but one of many layers. 'I knew every detail of her life. I knew what she was doing, and it was for the greater good. But she stopped before she could finish and look where it has left Valenwood? Everything is coming apart! You cannot quit now, Leila. You are the daughter of Ara High-Arrow. You are Leila Lockharte. You are the Black Raven! Only you can do this.' He jabbed a finger weakly towards me, his earlier energy dying out. 'Only you… Leila. Only you.'

'I'm a failure,' I cried. 'I lost everyone! Milkar, Aranwen, the Silver Crescents… My friends are dying by fighting my war. So many souls lost trying to reach this revolution. I'm sorry, Rollyn. I don't have a circle of seven. I don't have the power you, Mother, Father, and Aridiil had during the Oblivion Crisis. All I do is cause more death.'

Rollyn and I shared a moment frozen in time. From Tutor to apprentice, we stared in each other's eyes. The world, as I knew it had been coming down around me since I stepped away from Spring Garden Manor. I asked for this. I wanted to be more than what they wanted, so I chose a path of darkness. I decided on this despair.

'Uh.' Augoth stepped out of the snugpod, a small grin flittering on his mouth. 'Sorry to interrupt, but… I may have some good news.'

I swiped tears away from my eyes. 'Out with it, old man.'

'Yes, of course. I couldn't help but overhear you say Milkar, and the others were dead.' Augoth glanced around nervously. 'On the contrary, they're not.'

'What did you just say?' I grabbed the mage by his robes. 'What did you just say, Augoth? Do not joke with me?'

'They're… They're… alive. Just not in this realm.'

I let him crumble to the floor. 'You're lying. I watched Monsotar kill them myself. I was there, Augoth.'

The bulge on his neck bobbed. 'Yes, well. About that. You know Esmond, right?

'One of the Original Four Ara trained. He's a child of the Circle…' Rollyn explained. 'Master illusionist.'

Rollyn nodded frantically. 'Somehow, he managed to use the magicka from Goldfire to rip open a portal into Oblivion.'

I gritted my teeth.

'Not like that! With their souls and bodies intact! In fact, any weapon I've enchanted can be used so.'

The world began swimming around me. 'My brothers are alive?' I asked with a dry mouth.

'If you could bring the _Ghost Flame_ to your sword then I'm sure we can save them.' His eyes floated to the ground; hands clasped together. 'I could've told you earlier, but you were still recovering. Sorry.'

'My brothers are alive,' I repeated. 'They're alive!'

I felt Rollyn's hand plant on my shoulder. The warmth of it passing energy into me. 'You see, Leila. This is your Circle of Seven; this is your Crisis.'


	43. Nocturnal's Talon

_My sword has always been an extension of my body. I was good. However, the world would be at my whim if I focused on wielding a bow instead._

* * *

Chapter 43: Nocturnal's Talon

I held Twilight Talon with a tight grip. There was once a time I didn't truly understand how spiritual a sword can be. Sharpness, strength, and balance were the only attributes they needed. The reasons people even named their swords eluded me. However, I've long since opened my mind on the matter.

Times were changing, and my heart changed with it. Twilight Talon had a soul of its own, and that sword was gone. I almost felt sorry for the way I treated it over the years. I held its feeble husk. Almost like a dead body, overused and spent. But something deeper was within. Like a chrysalis, before it morphs into a moth, Twilight Talon was something different now.

'It's almost as if it was just an egg before,' I said, holding the blade flat across my palms. 'Now it's about to hatch to fulfill its true potential.'

With the Iron-Bark burned away, all that was left was the deep, dark ebony pilfered through the sword. It reflected no light that glared on it like something was missing from the world in the shape of a sword.

'You should give it a new name,' my old tutor suggested.

'But, what?'

'That's up to you,' Augoth said. 'Firstly, there's the issue of returning the Silver Crescents back to Mundus.'

I held my sword. 'I just have to use this, right?'

A faint frown fell on his lips. 'That's not all. I need one more ingredient to make it happen.'

'And what's that?'

'Blood,' he said, looking at the veins running down his arm. 'My blood.'

'You—' I began. I tried to find the right words to address the old enchanter. 'There has to be another way.'

A small smile flittered across Augoth's mouth. There was content written in those eyes. Augoth, the Bosmer that helped Mother retrieve the _Ghost Flame_ from the planes of Oblivion was what brought the Silver Crescents together. Our goal was to free Valenwood of the corruption that has dissolved it into a place decadence where we've watched the venatic of our own people. Augoth looked at me with more resolve than what I've seen came from the elf since I met him. I always thought he was kind of cowardly and didn't like him much at first. But he was against an entire army, always looking for the next person to protect him. Even I thought it was hard to escape Monsotar, and even I needed help to do so. I couldn't take anything away from him.

'Will it kill you?'

'It might,' Augoth lifted his shoulders to his earlobes. 'Depending on how much is needed to keep the portal open long enough for Milkar and others to slip out.'

'How much was needed to cast the _Cold Material_ onto Ara?' Rollyn walked across the bough-deck, his cloak fluttering.

Augoth sighed, calculating the cost of power. 'The four Royal Tribes that gave us the Cold Material was needed for separate details. The Clavente, the Royal Tribe of conjurors, helped keep the portal open with an unspoken amount of blood. There must have been hundreds of drums worth blood carried to the ritual. We won't need as much.'

'You're not a conjuror, Augoth. If they needed that much blood, how much would you need?' I asked him.

He jabbed a finger in my direction. 'Don't count me out as a mage, you know. I may be a master enchanter, but my prowess in all magicks exceeds the average. It's like Esmond if you will. He's a master illusionist, but he can heal the most impossible wounds.' Augoth raised his palms. They were clean, soft, and unlike the first time, I met the elf when his palms were scarred and rough with overuse of his abilities.

We've all come a long way since our first meeting. It's been almost two years since the day I followed Milkar and became the Black Raven. I had only just left the tutelage of Rollyn the Special, a fresh canvas for the world to paint its evils. I knew not what could come my way.

'Fine.'

Feeling the air that blew around the trees, we've faced the wet season. It took me six months to come to terms with changing the ways of Valenwood was my job alone after what happened to the Crescents. To know that they've survived was a surreal possibility that I never accounted for. I found my own team in the Leucrota, I've built my allies with an iron fist, and I resolved to storm this province with my revolution. Whatever sacrifices I needed to make; I was adamant that I could make it. My list of sins was long with no breaking the surface of salvation. The hands I had left to play were the Ranger Guard forces, Rindiel's secret conspirators, and Elren's _Rovseed_ survivors.

An unkindness of ravens exploded from the tops of the trees. Our eyes drifted on the black speckled cloud. The loudness of their cry, the blackness of their feathers, the determination of their flight across the violet, bruised sky. The ravens of Valenwood usher in the darkness of the night. I have shaped my soul out of that little, black bird. Brilliant, yet stealthy. A night's call. Dance in the darkness that led me through the shadow; through the forest on a fateful night. A dangling world of thieves, criminals, and thugs on a hinged bough. I would leave little light in this world because I was born in a shadow. But I would step away from that shadow and test it against the light of the world.

'Well then,' Augoth stretched. 'I'm ready if you are.'

The two old Bosmer stepped behind me. I slipped my nameless sword from its sheath. Twilight Talon was dead; used up by its owner in order to protect her. Used to further her revolution against the world. But it will be born anew in the darkness. When a phoenix dies, it is rebirth in a world of fire and heat. What happens when a raven dies and dips itself in shadow?

I held my arm outstretched; the blade pointed outward. Sensations of heat and cold strobed through my body simultaneously. My brow watered with sweat, slipping across my cheek. Augoth stepped to my side, a knife in his hand. Just a small one. His hands shook. He was scared; I was scared. He looked to me, his eyes watering, but he looked brave.

'Just like our eyes,' Augoth said. 'Our hearts have a way of adjusting to the darkness.'

A quick flash, Augoth dragged the blade of the knife across his palm. It happened too quickly; I nearly missed my opportunity. I rushed all the sword's power into the blade and felt a rebound that penetrated my very soul. It was as if the sword interlocked with me, and I, it. It searched me, every inch. Power rushed into my thoughts and memories; into the fibers of my flesh; every hair, nail, and bone. It filled my spirit, recharged my stamina, expanded my vigor, released magicka. Like a burning flame that burned cold. I was lit on fire.

I opened my eyes. My toes curled. My heart drummed heavily against my chest. The trees swayed and bent away; the leaves hissed in the winds, and the boughs creaked. I turned my head towards Twilight Talon's carcass. What was there, gripped in my sword arm, was something outside of this world. Something powerful. The world around us was cast in dark shadow. The sword emitted a half-light as if you were staring into a fire but a black hole at the same time. Around it, an ominous violet flame streamed.

The flames wavered slightly. It didn't spit and crackle. It dragged sound like a breath; wind down a cave mouth.

The pool of Augoth's blood began to grow. He fell to one knee, three blood draining from him at an excelled rate. I placed the tip of the flaming blade into the crimson red. Red became pink as flesh as the blood frothed as if boiled in a pot. I watched closely, not wanting to miss a moment. A blackened void swirled as if breaking into a new world; a realm of pure darkness in which no light can escape. But the portal was no larger than a seed. I gripped the hilt tighter, propelling more of the flame into his blood. Nothing worked.

I turned to Augoth who was already falling to a knee, his face as pale as Secunda. I filled my lungs with air and came to grips on the failure. Before I made the decision, the small coin-sized rip in the fabric of Mundus expanded to the size of ahead. The smell of copper filled the winds. It was like a typhoon was summoned to our exact spot. It took every I had to hold onto my sword. The _Ghost Flame_ made me feel light but powerful as if I could accomplish anything. I sent forth more power than I ever have, even before Twilight Talon was destroyed.

Before I knew it, the conjured doorway into Oblivion had opened wide enough for someone to walk through. And lo and behold, someone _did_ walk through. A silhouette was all I could see, ever dark against the nothingness of the void. It slipped out into the light, wide-shouldered, confused as it looked in all directions. Another formed behind him, and another. After the fourth shadowed figure stepped from the portal, it closed abruptly. Augoth dropped onto the bark of the tree, unmoving.

Behind Falinesti in the distance, the sun had dipped far below the horizon leaving all but an orange bruise on the bed of Nirn. We were decently high enough in the trees to see the stars that already blanked into existence for the night.

Augoth's breathing was all too shallow. I knew that strain. It was an easy thing to forget that a few quarts of blood loss can kill even the strongest elf or man. Weakness was the first symptom, next was the loss of consciousness. I ripped a strip of cloth from my shirt and wrapped his hands.

'This is it for me, Leila.' Augoth said as I worked on his wound.

I frowned. 'Shut up, old man. It's just a small flesh wound.'

He shook his head and held his left arm towards me. Blood seeped like a river from his wrist. I stopped, and my arms fell to my side. Defeated. I looked Augoth in those flittering, green eyes of his. In the end, he was braver than any of us thought. 'You are such an annoying thorn in my ass,' I told him, softly.

'I know…' he said. His voice shaken. 'But I want to thank you, Leila. You've made me _like_ my abilities again. You… gave… me the… opportunity…' Augoth's words began to sputter out like a dying candle. 'to save… Valenwood again.'

My shoulders began shuddering uncontrollably. I closed my eyes. 'When you see Mother up there, tell her not to worry about the mess she made down here. I'm cleaning it up.'

A small smile stretched on Augoth's lips. 'I… will.'

His body went limp. Tears crawled down my cheeks and fell onto his face, finding the old grooves that marked the old master enchanter. He looked younger in death than he did in life. He looked happy.

The four that entered this realm stood silently behind me. I felt their eyes.

I turned to meet their eyes. They looked beaten and battered, but almost a year in Oblivion would do that to you, wouldn't it?

'You four have some explaining to do.' A tear wiping a path down my cheek.

* * *

Aranwen, Milkar, Gwendalyn, Esmond, Ceril, and Sickle Ear. I watched them all die right before my eyes. That bastard took Ceril's head, burned Sickle Ear alive, and he plunged his sword through my brother's heart. They dragged me away. _Me._ I was the only survivor that night as Monsotar took everything from me. They stuck me in a hole for months at a time. He forced me to eat my own friends' flesh. I was face to face with the people whose deaths brought me horror; it brought me to my revolution.

The whir of the night came in full force. The trees hissed in the breeze. The night wrapped the world in its shadowy embrace. I approached the four as they were too dazed to do anything else. 'Well,' I began. 'Say something.' I looked towards Milkar. His eyes fluttered around as he shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of things.

'Well, what the ever-loving fuck?' Gwendalyn coughed. 'It's about gods-damned time we escaped that horrid fucking place!'

'Would it kill ya not to be so vulgar, Gwenny?' Aranwen asked. 'It's…It's unbecoming of a—' Aranwen turned to me. 'Leila?'

My body froze rigidly. I couldn't move. Aranwen reached back towards Milkar without taking his eyes from mine, but Milkar had already noticed. Esmond stood in the back, seemingly out of solidarity, his arms folded across his chest and eyes lowered to where Augoth lay. Aranwen made his move and took me up in a suffocating embrace. All the anger I held towards them for being gone for so long disappeared in that instant, as if I didn't have a reason to be angry anymore. The past six moon cycles disappeared just like that. But they weren't really gone; it all happened. Every bit of it. I was tortured and raped and forced to do Monsotar's bidding just so I could see even the slightest inkling of Milkar's dream come true. I've long since given that up.

I couldn't find the strength to raise my arms to return my love to Aranwen. It just wasn't in me. I let him pull away and looked into his emerald eyes. That last time I saw Aranwen, he hated me for killing Arian. In the darkest times of the night, when the silence and loneliness was an empty canvas to paint my horrors on, I could see Arian's blood still on me. I could still see his face as I killed him with my bare hands.

Aranwen cupped my face in his hands. 'Leila, we thought we lost you.'

Milkar's hand slivered over Aranwen's shoulder and his face peered behind his. 'They dragged you away.'

I averted my eyes. 'I saw you die. All of you.' Milkar's shoulder's slumped. 'I saw him stab you through the heart.'

Milkar shook his head slowly. 'We managed to escape in the chaos. Esmond opened a portal wide enough to send us into another realm.'

'The worst places of all eternity,' Gwendalyn spat. 'We _swam_ in literal shadow for as long as I could remember.'

'But how? How did you all survive?' I cried.

'Evergloam,' Esmond said. 'The realm we lived in for the past few moon cycles. Nocturnal's eternal realm of shadow. I figured it was the only place we would be welcomed.'

'You lived with a Daedric Prince?' My voice sounded all too shallow.

'Not necessarily. Oblivion is an odd place. Alien to Mundus, but somewhat…similar.'

A voice at the back of them grumbled. They all turn to see Rollyn. 'We can all catch up later. For right now, we need to bury our friend, and worry about the upcoming battle.' He nodded at me.

I tried to shake the shock, I truly tried. But Rollyn was right. The Ranger Guard, Sultel, and the Leucrota waited for me in Arenthia. They might even think I was dead in the aftermath of the breaking of Falinesti.

Their return and Augoth's death didn't leave my world shattered any more than it already was, however, it left me in a space of confusion. I built my hatred around the simple fact that Monsotar killed my family and tore me to pieces. The Tam'Akar terrorized my home and undermined the peaceful ways of its people. If Milkar and the others were still alive, so what? Monsotar and Aridiil have embedded seeds of wrath in my mind, and I couldn't just let it go. This was my truth. I was born to curse those that hurt and crossed me. Elren lay beaten and wounded; the Leucrota mourn the loss of their friends; my enemies still threatened Valenwood as much as they did before I thought my family to be dead. Now was the time to move against them, and my window was running out. If we bear our strength now and ask questions later, then I'm afraid that we've already lost.

In the hours following the ritual, we buried Augoth at the base of a tree on a mighty cliff overlooking Falinesti. He wanted a better future for Valenwood because he believed in the vision that my mother had laid out for us all. For him, my mother was like a saint, and he was her apostle. I believe that Augoth Thornbush genuinely cared for the end goal she sought. He gave Mother the power to defeat the Daedra, and he wanted to help even after her death, but people saw to it that her vision became twisted. He was a light in the shadow just like she was, and the world has become a darker place without him.

I filled Milkar and the others of all the events leading up to me finding them. Nightmares of the darkroom they threw me in, how I converted the Leucrota to my side, in which Esmond told me that was impressive, and the truth of Rindiel and Elren. I also spoke to them about my revolution. Merely replacing the Thieves of the Wood wouldn't change much in the climate of Valenwood, but a total reformation of all things illicit. A criminal is a criminal is a criminal. While that may hold true, a law may hold to be unjust. My goal was simple. All bands that worked outside the limits of law will come under one general rule: You do not break the wall of innocence that I will build around them. I told them that I was a vessel, and I will carry the burden of hatred on me to the end of my days. If anyone has a problem needing to be resolved, then I will resolve it my way, but I alone will choose that path. I will carry that on my shoulders, alone.

'It seems you've truly found your way then, sister.' Milkar said. 'Your _own_ way.'

'I can't help but feel that something has put me on this path,' I told him. 'My rebellion… nothing more than a game played by the Divines.'

Perhaps it was the same for Augoth. Meant to stir the pot, to create chaos here on Nirn with his abilities at hand. To create fires, one cold and one hot.

Aranwen ran a hand through the brown shock of Elren's hair as he slept. 'So, what now? I didn't wait in Oblivion for so long just to escape and do nothing. Are we joining you on your fight, Leila?'

'I wouldn't expect anything less.' I turned to Rollyn. 'Even you, Tutor.'

'I've turned my eyes from sadness in this world. I ran away, and they kept happening, all around me.' Rollyn took me in with his fierce stare. 'I have faced this truth head-on. I will not spare you the act of kindness with a lie.' He closed his eyes and sucked air through his teeth. 'All of us might die soon.'

There was no room for us in the plans of the Thalmor.

I stood up to face my Tutor. He knew me, and I knew him. I believed that if I didn't write upon myself the goal to end Monsotar and his ways; end all the corruption here in Valenwood and enforce my will upon the entire province, then I would have agreed with him. But despite the endgame being a loss, I will continue. Because right now, I was, no… I _am_ the only one that could win.

I held up my sword and spoke a name that even surprised me.

'Nocturnal's Talon.' I turned it over. 'It only fits.'


	44. Having The Strength To Lead

_We live not for what we can achieve; but for the pride of surviving the journey towards our accomplishments_

* * *

Chapter 44: Having The Strength To Lead

'Now that you have the _Ghost Flame_ , destroying the Thieves of the Wood should be a lot less difficult.' Milkar walked beside me, the soft glow of the flora around us illuminated his face in episodes. 'I would have never imagined you've come this far in strength.'

'I stopped doing it for everyone else, and started doing it for myself,' I said. 'I've made too many mistakes and lost too many people. This time, I'm going to end it once and for all.'

Aranwen snapped his fingers. 'You're selling your achievements short, Leila. All that has led up to this is because of your determination. No one said it would be easy and we wouldn't lose friends along the way.'

I shook my head slowly, remembering the horrors that happened only three nights prior. I remembered the screams, the pleas for help, and the death at every corner. 'And Falinesti suffered in the crossfire.'

'We've poked and prodded at the Tam'Akar for so long, that we got what we were asking for.' Esmond said from behind. His voice reflecting a chastising tone. 'It's unusual for them to have attacked you so publicly, but in doing so has shown the people their true colors. The Tam'Akar thrives off their fraudulent duty to Valenwood, but no one knew what they were actually doing to set the stage for Thalmor rule.'

'My battle with Aridiil in the mountains tipped him over the edge. No longer seeing us as children playing with fire and seeing us irrefutable threats.' I turned to Elren. He'd yet to say anything since awakening despite trying to speak with him. He'd lost an entire arm at the shoulder. Something like that would send me into a world of depression. 'I think it was then he realized he'd been toying with us for too long. We sent him running with his tail between his legs.'

'Or at least very confused,' Aranwen chuckled. 'Aridiil is not the one to know defeat. He is undoubtedly one of the most powerful inquisitors in the whole damn Tam'Akar.'

We passed through the heart of Reaper's March near the city of Arenthia. The trail from Greenshade to the arid forests of the March was a long way—about a week's journey. Having my family back by my side left me dawdling in existential chaos. I didn't know—or remembered—how I was supposed to feel. For so long, I carried the hurt and sorrow of losing them in my heart that it became the ambition to keep pressing forward, but they were alive. The purpose I had to press the Thieves of the Wood had been subtracted from. Monsotar was the monster I imagined; I hated the Bosmer before I even met him on the field. I kept pressing the issue that the underground world of Valenwood needed a new bull in charge, and I chose Milkar to head that position. Despite Milkar and the others surviving, I still hated Monsotar for all that he has done; for Gleril, for Elren, for everything. My need to separate his head from his body burned hotter than my want to run far from this province and seclude ourselves from the problems of this world.

'In the end, he still held back. Even when he made it adamant he wanted to kill me.' The group fell silent, letting the sounds of the forest creep between our conversation. 'A lot has changed since you all disappeared. I have garnered all that I could against Monsotar. It's still easy to hold onto the hatred I have for him.' I turned to them.

'You've shouldered the issues that have been long-standing before you were born. All because you believe you're the one to change things.'

'Because I am!' My emotion flared which in turn caused Nocturnal's Talon to echo with power. In the craggy forest of Reaper's March, the dried trees began to crack and splinter around me, drawn in by the expansion of aura then subsequent vacuum left behind.

They felt it, I knew they did by the expressions of sullen fear on their faces. I held merely a fraction of Mother's power, and yet, I commanded the power of gods. They stared at me now with distinguished astonishment.

I clenched my jaw tightly and worked some ways ahead of them. It wasn't as if I didn't want to end Monsotar's reign and change the way things are done, I simply could not find the joy in having the people that put me on this path to have returned from what I thought was their death. There should be a celebration, but I didn't want to celebrate. I just wanted to get this all over with so that all who have died can rest in peace.

'We still have our reasons to want to see Monsotar's head roll from his shoulders,' Aranwen said trying to catch up with me. 'For Arian, Fatrigar, the tribes… Even if you quit now, Leila, we will still fight until we've won.'

'Let's not forget that if either the Tam'Akar or Monsotar get their hands on the _Ghost Flame_ , all will be lost.' Milkar slipped past us and stepped out onto a small clearing. In the distance, Arenthia's wall stood tall against the rising sun. 'You're like me, Leila. We have the strength to lead Valenwood through this darkness, and even though our end goals might differ, as children of Ara High-Arrow, we have the duty to do so. That's why it's so innate within us. That's why we can't do anything else.'

* * *

Arenthia hadn't changed since the summit. The forest surrounding the city was sun washed and dry. Trees here grew more sporadic and craggy than in the wet jungles towards the south. Graht-Oaks were fewer and far between. But the skies were so clear and blue, you can see the pillars of Y'ffre clearly across the distant. The walls were dotted by hundreds of trees but none of them large enough to be considered Graht-Oak. They stood like guardians overlooking their domain, closing it off to the rest of the world.

The main road to the gates was shared by merchants and travelers alike. And the heavy presence of Ranger Guard made it obvious my army had gathered. Towards the outskirts of the city, the Ranger Guard's camp occupied the shade of a tree and could be seen from nearly a mile away. There were thousands of them, that much I could tell. Thousands all waiting on me. When we reached, I noticed the camp was surrounded by a massive rootwall with a single point of entry and heavily guarded with by _feathers_ and _shafts_.

For those Bosmer that won their positions into the Ranger Guard using the Guardian Pathos of Fall Heir needed to be well versed in the Guard's ranking system and operations. For me, all my life I've been taught in preparation for just this job. Tutor Rollyn taught me that the Ranger Guard's ranks are similar to any other structure of war. You have the foot soldiers which were the _feathers_ and _shafts_ , then you have a single leader known as an _arrow tip_. With seven _feathers_ and _seven_ shafts, an _arrow_ tip—or " _tip_ " for short—leads an _Arrow_. Three _Arrows_ is led by an officer rank known as a _Hand_ , and that unit is known as a _Quiver_. A _Bow_ is the highest rank under Watchmaster you can achieve. One _Bow_ leads an _Archery_ which consists of twenty _Quivers_. I skipped the whole lot and jumped right to Watchmaster. Such is the way of the Ranger Guard that ensures the strongest always lead.

My goal of becoming Watchmaster wasn't out of pride of being Bosmer, but to have an army at my back to route Monsotar and destroy him for good. The Ranger Guard is a fairly small army, while bandit clans, mercenaries, and criminal organizations range far more than us, we have the superior skill. We must win at all costs.

'This is a private military installation. What business do you have here?' One of the _Shafts_ asked lowering his composite bow leveled with our bodies.

I withdrew the Watchmaster's shortsword from its sheath under my cloak and held it out for Ranger Guardian to see. He stumbled back slightly wearing a pain and confused expression upon his face. The others shared this same look. How odd I must've looked to them. A brigand wearing tattered black leathers and a long flowing cloak. The Silver Crescents at my back wearing similar armor and all armed to the teeth.

'I am Leila Lockharte. Watchmaster of the Ranger Guard.' Two of the _Feathers_ began whispering amongst themselves.

'You!' a voice from the other side of the encampment's entrance said. 'It's you!'

'Bow Yesime. A pleasure as always.' I pushed the _Shaft_ aside.

'It's not a pleasure!' There was a pained strain in his voice. 'You should be dead along with the other four hundred people that died in the breaking of Falinesti.'

A pang of guilt hit me like an arrow through the heart. 'Yesime…'

'Because of you, Syklen is dead. It's all your fault!'

'You cannot blame me when _I_ was the one that was attacked.' I lowered my voice to a low growl, but I made a weak attempt at hiding the pain. 'Bow Syklendied a hero… and you are too.'

Bow Syklen was a good warrior. Maybe even great—an elite chosen to sit at the Watchmaster's side. The loss of him was a hard hit for this force. But in the end, we gained Milkar, Aranwen, and Esmond. Just one of the Silver Crescents was worth an entire _Quiver_ , however, that fact does not subside the pain of loss. Death was a natural part of war, and yet the more bodies that piled up on my path, the more guilty I felt.

'I can't apologize enough, Bow Yesime. But what I can do is finish what I started.' I looked him in the eyes. This was the first time he truly listened. 'This is the true mission of the Ranger Guard, is it not? We must defend our home from our enemies foreign and domestic.'

'Is everything alright, Leila?'

Yesime took one look at Milkar and stiffened. 'Milkar Lockharte… you're here. Have you joined the Ranger Guard as well?'

'No.'

He turned to the rest of the party and recognized each of their faces. 'Why are they here? What is the meaning of this?'

I searched the camp, vying my eyes over every inch and corner. It was a large spectacle surrounded by rootwall. In the center, hundreds of Ranger Guard either tussled in the dirt or swung swords at each other. On the far side, rows upon rows of soft clay targets were peppered with arrows all of which were seemingly directed at six points of the body where it would either maim the victim or quickly kill them without suffering. This was a training ground of the elite Ranger Guard.

Many of the Guard at the entrance stopped what they were doing to stare at the Silver Crescents and me. I could feel their eyes and hear their whispers. The others didn't seem bothered by this, and I didn't exactly know why I thought they would. Instead of reveling in their strength, seeing as they survived half the year in Oblivion, I felt overwhelmingly protective of them. 'At least you did as I asked,' I said to Yesime whose face flashed a hot red.

The Bow's anger deepened but he dared not show it on the outside. All the young _Feathers_ , _Shafts_ , and _Arrow Tips_ looked up to the apparatus of the Guard. Seeing as how they've trained with them since the age of six. Yesime respected that ranking system, even if he believed me an illegitimate commander.

'I could care less what you think you're entitled to,' he growled. 'The only reason why I will follow your orders is because of your father.'

'Have you forgotten the whole "christened by the Silvenar" thing, or are you telling me you care nothing for the traditions of the Ranger Guard?'

'Christened?' Aranwen asked with a chortle. 'Well, I'll be damned, Leila. You've surely come a long way.' He looked up at Milkar.

Milkar wore a look of concern. His eyes looked at me then at Yesime. 'It's surprising. How bad has it gotten since we disappeared?'

'We should talk.'

The Watchmaster's quarters was a grandiose looking snugpod in the small shade of the tree, just tucked underneath the base. Walking through the entrance, we came into the foyer. Separate halls stretched in twisted paths following the length of the snugpod, several rooms where a private war band would stay. Most likely for _Bows_ like Yesime that were supposed to stay at the Watchmaster's side. Elren slowly limped into one of the hallways and disappeared behind one of the leaf veils into a room. I was in the right mind to follow him, however, I felt I needed to speak with my brothers before I could reconcile with the Royal tribesman. This war was for him mainly. For all of the Royal Tribes' salvation.

'Well I'm wiped,' Gwendalyn said with a wide-mouthed exclamation. 'It's funny to see how far you've come, but as the unofficial official fence of the Silver Crescents, I think I'll skip the war meetings.'

I raised an incredulous eyebrow. Gwendalyn has proven that she can defend herself in a fight and coupled with surviving the darkness of Oblivion, I was confident she would be valuable in the upcoming fight. 'Unofficial, official fence?' I asked.

Aranwen waved his hands. 'No worries. Gwenny is just our lost adopted child. When this is all done, we'll need to start acting as a real right guild.'

She too disappeared in one of the rooms. How tired this lot must be. Since summoned from another realm, they've seemed to appear paler than usual. Their skin plastered white, older and more tired than before I thought they were murdered.

I shrugged and started for the war room. The room was an angled corner with a widened entrance. Towards the center, an incredible looking table stationed itself with a pile of string tied scrolls laid upon it. Milkar, Esmond, Aranwen, and Yesime followed in.

'Esmond,' I turned to the Bosmer halfling.

'I know what you're going to say,' he said, raising his hand. 'and it is true, I was trained by your mother.' This didn't come at a surprise from Aranwen and Milkar. Which proved that they were hiding certain facts from me.

'I've also made allies of Sultel Worm-Flower.'

'So, that old coot still lives, eh?'

'I first met him during my escape from Arenthia when we came to meet Torgoth.'

Esmond crossed his arms. 'What is it that you want to know?'

The question had been lingering on my tongue since the truth of my mother was revealed to me. 'What was my mother preparing for? Tell me why was it up to Monsotar to create this…mess we're in now.'

Milkar turned to his mentor, and they met eyes for a brief moment. Esmond sighed and shook his head. 'We can longer hide the truth, Milkar.'

Milkar grunted and trailed off to an empty seat.

'Ara wanted a way to protect Valenwood. She couldn't trust the Treethanes, nor the Thalmor. Not even your father who led the Ranger Guard as Battlereeve.'

'The only way was to create a band of rogues.'

'She was successful, for a time, and she gave us the reigns when Milkar was born.'

'Did she abandon you?' I asked.

Esmond nodded. 'At the time, that's how it felt. It broke all four of us to see her walk away to continue a life of her own. We knew that she was already living a double life, being the hero of Valenwood and the wife of Faeden Lockharte.' His lips folded into a careworn frown. 'However, Monsotar decided that he would continue her legacy the way he wanted. I stood on the sidelines, even done somethings that I'm ashamed of and watched a monster hatch from my close friend.'

'And the _Ghost Flame_? What became of it? Why is it so sought after?'

'You know this story already, Leila.' There was a tinge of irritation in his voice, and I looked him down. 'The _Ghost Flame_ is—'

'None of what you've told me has aligned with anything that Aridiil or Monsotar has revealed.' I sighed and found a seat of my own. 'I just want to know.'

'Uh—perhaps I should've left with Gwenny and Elren.' Aranwen backed away.

'You stay!' I jabbed a finger in his direction. 'You were in on it as well.'

'But—'

Milkar patted the air with his hand. Aranwen submitted and slumped his shoulders. I grunted and stood back up. Everything must come to light if I was to complete my goal of a revolution. I will end Monsotar and route the Thieves of the Wood. But I will not replace a mastermind with another, even if he is my brother. Milkar stared intently.

Esmond lowered his brows. 'The _Ghost Flame_ was just the first sign that the prophecy is near.'

'The Culling?'

Esmond nodded. 'The Culling. A prophecy among the Altmer echelons, and the second Oblivion Crisis.'

An eerie silence cut into the room. Everyone didn't have the nerve to make eye contact with each other. I used Nocturnal's Talon's _Ghost Flame_ enchantment to open a portal in Oblivion. It so happens that Mother's extraordinary use of the power was doused in irony that, although she used it against the forces of Oblivion, it can be used to bring them back. And not just from the Deadlands, but from every plane with a sitting Daedric Prince.

'What was our goal for the Silver Crescents?' I asked Milkar. 'Was it to combat the prophecy, or were we working for the people?'

'Both.'

'Why didn't you tell me any of this?'

'Because I wanted to protect you!'

'Protect me?' My heart raced. My jaw clenched, and heat boiled in my gut. Nocturnal's Talon reacted to the flush of anger rising in the pit of my soul. The _Ghost Flame_ filtered out slowly from its blade, flaring around me like a protective shell of violet fires. I could feel its call; it's power overwhelming but calm at the same moment. It reacts to me; to my emotions and thoughts. 'Where were you to protect me then, Milkar?' Spines of flame spiked from the sword hanging on my back. 'Where were you when he fucked me for an entire moon cycle? He made me his sword. I killed for him. I bled for the Bosmer that killed my brothers!'

'It's Elren, Leila.'

The flame went out as fast as they came.

'Elren?'

Milkar stood with a challenging stare. 'The Royal Tribe known as the Red Moss. _Srekanb Terces_. Their ability, Leila, is to hold the memories, secrets, or anything they choose indefinitely in their minds. Mother entrusted them with the whereabouts of _her_ power.'

'Aridiil eradicated them because of their ability?'

Milkar pursed his lips.

'And you saved Elren…because he holds her secret.' I inhaled harshly.

My brother said nothing.

'Does he know?' I asked.

I sighed and spun for the leaf-veil.

'He knows, and so does Rindiel,' Esmond answered before I exited. 'Rindiel is a Silver Crescent. We paid him to help Monsotar and Aridiil kill the Red Moss.'

My body grew rigid. 'That I already figured out.'

'It was the only way to keep Ara's power a secret. You only hold but a sliver of what she wielded. Confined to that sword, and yet it can level Monsotar.'

'You must realize that if the Tam'Akar gets their hands on Elren, they could bring forth an army of Daedra far more powerful than what the Mystic Dawn brought.'

I opened the leaf-veil. 'I'm going to go win a war now,' I said. 'And when it is done, I will be the one to burden with these truths. You will play one role and one role only: You will gain a tight grip on the politics and law enforcement of Valenwood, and that's it.'

'You can't make this your own fight, Leila.'

'Watch me.' I said, leaving the room.

* * *

'Long time no see.'

The voice brought a brilliant smile to my face. I turned to see the Leucrota along with Sultel standing behind me as I watched the Ranger Guard work their magnificent wonder.

'It has only been a fortnight and here you are weeping over the long, cold nights without your raven.' I returned Larethia's smile.

'We thought you dead,' Sultel said, raising an eyebrow. 'I saw the horror in your eyes when you fell with the branch.'

I closed my eyes trying to shut away from the memories of that tragedy. 'Well, I'm alive. And with good news.'

'Your brother lives!' Orc exclaimed. 'We saw you all come through the entrance, however, I couldn't help but see a certain Crow alongside you.'

'If you're talking about Esmond, then yes, he was with me. But he's no longer a crow, hasn't been one for quite some time.' I turned to them. 'What have you all been doing since I last saw you?'

Grim grunted. 'Spying on the little army you've got here. The going rumor is that the Tam'Akar were after you when they broke Falinesti. They're going to refuse to follow you.'

I sighed and looked out over the span of the training field. 'I knew this would happen.'

'Well, in good Black Raven fashion, you need to show them they need to respect you, just how you did when you joined the Leucrota.' Larethia wore a sinister little smile.

'I can't just unmercifully kill one of them, you know.'

'But you can win their respect. The Ranger Guard are known for their challenges within the ranks.' Sultel explained. He pointed towards a group Bows gathered near a supporting line of roots.

A frown tugged at my lips as I considered the proposition. I slipped the Iron-Bark shortsword from its scabbard and strode toward the center of the camp. Few of the Ranger Guard peered out at me curiously. They seemed amused as if I was some joke to be made fun of in the confines of the lower ranks. In some ways, the Ranger Guard was a contradiction. They valued those to be the strongest in leadership positions, however, the Pathos of Fall Heir made it so that those trained outside of the Guard can challenge in. Those were called Serpers, and it rarely occurred. The individual Guardians only respected those who've trained with them from the age of six and pried their own leviathan bone from the massive creatures and graduated into their ranks by the age of thirteen.

To them, I was a Serper of the highest sin. I _took_ the Watchmaster's rank rather than earned it. A vagabond girl, who probably was only given the challenge for being the daughter of the Battlereeve. I was going to prove my strength.

I raised the sword high. Being that they were _Bows_ and probably shared the younger, lower ranks' plight about following my orders, they grudgingly began to gather their _archeries_ into formation.

Without the usual haste and urgency they would have for Erandil, they dragged themselves into an inverted wedge formation known as the Camoran Bow. Each _Archery_ took the shape of a triangular angle with defense lines to the front, holding diamond-shaped shields. Archers with composite bows took center while blades men took the rear.

The _Bows_ took place at the front of their respective _Archeries_. They all stood to wait for my orders.

'I hear some of you don't think I'm capable of leading as your Watchmaster.' Murmurs went up at that. Even if I said the statement, talking while in formation was against the rules in the Ranger Guard. I raised an eyebrow. I pointed with the Watchmaster's sword to one of the leading _Bows_. 'You! Should I know why your _Archery_ believe it okay to speak in formation?'

The _Bow_ rolled his eyes. 'They do not see you as one of them,' he said ever-so bravely. 'You're a wanted criminal that stole the rank from Erandil.'

I narrowed my eyes. 'And do you know what it takes to become the Watchmaster?'

'When one dies, another is voted in by the Battlereeve and his council. But there's the Pathos of Fall Heir. Any challenger with a reputable name around Valenwood can challenge the position, but they must be put to a vote before the duel can be initiated.' He answered truthfully and honestly.

'Exactly. In that case—'

'We know that Erandil wasn't the strongest Watchmaster we've ever had,' a gangly _Bow_ interjected. 'But the only reason _you_ got the vote was that you're the daughter of the Battlereeve, or else a criminal scum like you would never find herself in the office.'

'You know… we can probably take them all on if you're willing to allow us.' Larethia whispered in my ear. I stayed her with a hand.

'Is it my legitimacy or my strength you question?'

'Both.' The entirety of the Ranger Guard nodded in agreement.

'Who here is more legit than I?'

The _Bow_ closest to me spoke up in a conniving, devilish tone. 'Everyone here.'

'We want to follow! We just want a truly strong leader.' A ranger Guardian spoke from the ranks.

'I don't care whether you think I'm a legit Watchmaster or not. I'm here for one goal and one goal only. To stop the Bosmer that you all were too weak to stop before. None of you are strong enough; none of you have shown courage.'

This angered many of the _Bows_ ; they withdrew their swords in a challenge to my words. According to Rollyn, things like this happened all the time. They got testy, and they felt the need to be put back in their place. So be it. I wasn't scared to fight the best of the best, because I knew that this was the path I must follow. This was the only way.

'That's suicide!' Orc said running out of the way. Grim and Larethia shared the sentiment. Only Sultel stood in my midst.

I looked at him, but he just chuckled. 'Do you expect me to move? I did train with Monsotar too, you know?'

'All of you at once!' I roared.

And they came. The first three _Bows_ in the front reached me first. They were grins of mischief on their faces. Taking down the Watchmaster must have been a _Bow's_ dream. I twirled around a fast lunge and rolled off the attacker's back straight into a swift kick at another Guard's face. He staggered back giving me a brief moment to lock onto the first _Bow's_ arm. I knocked his sword from his grip and pushed him away. The third came at me swinging, I parried him and ducked into his defense, punching my shoulder into his gut. As the others trickled in, I managed a dozen blocks and parries before I slipped into the offensive and left two with gashes across their arms. I wasn't trying to hurt them badly. I still needed them, however, drawing blood was the only way I could get my message across.

They didn't come separately either. These Bosmer fought alongside each other most of their lives. They knew teamwork, which was the fundamental problem with the Guardian Pathos of Fall Heir. How can you exchange the bonds you make with your fellow guardians?

Two came at me at once, their swords crossed over each other leaving razor-sharp edges leading in a single dead endpoint. I jumped out their way at the last second, dropping my blade low and cutting through one of their sides. The waist of his breeches split and the shredded bottoms fell to his ankles. He tripped with force and tumbled into his partner. I was already exchanging sequences on three more _Bows_ ; one of them was one of the first two. I flipped onto his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his neck. I twirled my body around the circumference of his neck and stopped when my knee reached his throat. I dropped all of my weight on him and we both slammed to the ground. Only he couldn't recover as he squirmed like a helpless worm in the baking sun, holding his throat and choking.

When fighting multiple opponents at once, you need to learn a little bit about precognition. Recognizing muscle movements and the outcome of each step, fling of the arm, glance of the eye, or lanes of a counter to predict their next move. You do this on a one-on-one and even more so for one-on-many. The timing was everything. Parry one _Bow_ ; push him back, block and feign another; the first one you parried has already returned.

In the end, it was too tiring, and they were too good. It didn't matter whose tutelage I trained under. The Ranger Guard was an elite force, and these Bosmer were their best. A heavy foot slammed into my chest and another careened into the back of my knee. I fell into the dirt, heaving. I closed my eyes as one _Bow_ ran at me with full force. But nothing happened. I opened my eyes to see a single hand stretched out to me. I took it. I hadn't realized that the entire force surrounded the fight. And they were all cheering. Whistles and claps exploded from the crowd.

 _Lockharte! Lockharte! Lockharte!_ They chanted over and over.

I may not have won the battle against their commanders, but I did win their respect. I stood to my feet and felt multiple pats on my back.

'That looked easy,' Sultel said. He clapped.

'It wasn't,' I said breathlessly.

I saw Milkar and the others clapping with faint smiles tugging at their lips.

I raised the Watchmaster's shortsword, and they all dropped into a silent bout. 'Eat your dinner, and eat it knowing that tomorrow we march. The Bosmer that have sucked this wonderful province dry of its integrity will fall to us! Monsotar Handseed will know my revolution!'


	45. The Nights, The Blades, And The Crows

_Peace is a lie_

* * *

Chapter 45: The Nights, The Blades, And The Crows

'You _can't_ go! You mustn't.' I jumped in front of Elren. 'I can't allow you.'

Elren's eyes were like two unfocused portals. He didn't look determined, but it seemed he wasn't going to budge.

Elren tried to step around me, and I went to grab his arm. All I could grab was an empty sleeve where his left arm should've been. Since I knew Elren, he used his left arm dominantly. He used it to write, to lift, and to wield his sword. There were times where he could use his right arm for all those things, however, having his left arm taking away left him vulnerable.

'I can fight,' he said, his voice thick with anger.

'Listen, Leila…' Aranwen interjected with a mild tone of concern. 'I won't say Elren will be at his best out there, but I did train him before with the weapons of Akivir. I've seen him use his right arm before. There isn't really—'

'Two arms are always better than one in battle!' I seethed. 'You might be able to swing a sword with one, maybe even effectively, but you always need two in a fight. I can't allow him—I just can't.'

Elren gave an expressionless nod. 'I must,' he said softly. 'The Rovseed.'

I stomped my feet and pounded the bark of the wall. 'This is utter horse shit! All of you!' I looked at my brothers, Esmond, Gwendalyn, and even the Leucrota and Sultel. 'I watched you all die one by one. I felt the hurt of losing you. I cannot do that again.'

Milkar stood from his chair and looked me directly in the eyes. It was the first time he's done so since his returned. 'We know this is your fight. You've taken a vow of vengeance and martyrdom for us,' he slapped the crescent moon emblazoned on his chest plate, 'but it had always been _our_ fight. Even before you came, we've decided to give our lives for it.'

'Even us, Leila,' Larethia added. 'Even when we worked for that bastard, we wanted to revolt. You only provided a means to an end.' She raised a hand. 'I'm not saying we used you,' Orc and Grim looked down in uncertainty, 'we have grown to love you, but we would still try even if you didn't come along.'

I never heard Larethia speak like that. My shoulders slumped, and I felt defeated.

I turned to Elren and studied him. He trained hard during our time in Shimmer Root, and his skills were almost equal to mine. And he was faster. Perhaps it wasn't too farfetched to believe he can still fight with one arm. Who was I to tell him he wasn't? The whole reason why he suffered such a gruesome fate was because of me. I've always picked a fight too big for me, and it was my friends that felt the backlash. Yet, they still followed me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and surrendered.

'It's settled. On the morrow, we march.'

They all nodded.

* * *

The next day came fast. In my days forging my path away from those who've wanted me to follow in my mother's boots, I never thought I'd have the force of two thousand Ranger Guard at my back. It was more than a quarter of the entire Guard. However, I knew it would still be a struggle. In Valenwood's forests, bandits and thieves trained hard in all manner of combat. And to count Monsotar's force of Nightblades, the fight ahead of us was going to be tough. It's not to say that the Ranger Guard were lacking in strength and strategy, but you should never underestimate the will of the criminal world. For every Ranger Guardian that has passed the Trial of the Greensap, there were ten ordinary warriors that found their destiny in the world of larceny, murder for hire, and banditry. Monsotar has connected them all with the Thieves of the Wood.

The Woods has grown from a group of four specialized individuals to a guild. And with the introduction of nightblade magicks, they've evolved into something Tamriel has never seen before. They were a symbiote army of incredible power. An army living in the shadows; an organization that controlled many aspects of the everyday lives of ordinary people. From simple storeowners to the highest political spectrum. Some say he has agents within the Guard itself.

In the final hour, my otherwise bold confidence began to dwindle. Listening to the archers that walked beside me and those traversing the trees. I'm not experienced enough. Although I gave myself to whatever trial they decided my worth as Watchmaster, I've never fought with any of them. I never gave an order that will decide their survival.

I took only two _archeries_ from the north down into the Grove of Bent Grasses. The crag and spore trees of Reaper's March changed to the lush greenery and massive trees of the Grahtwood. Night had fallen already, and the bioluminescent plants revealed the faces of Ranger Guardians. Their faces looked hard in the soft glow. They were ready for war.

The Ranger Guard have always been mobilized the scout massive bandit clans in their camps. This wasn't simple scouting; this was something so much more and far worse. I wanted to end this in one simple battle. Not a war, but it will feel like it.

My mind wandered to Elren once more. He and Aranwen will come from the western flank as I come in from the north. It was a good thing Aranwen was with him. I know my brother was as good as Milkar albeit a bit more subtle with his skills.

The Grove of Bent Grasses was a series of arduous trees. But between the trees and among the planes that separate them, grass as tall as three Altmer gave us a creeping cover. This was Thieves of the Wood territory so they would know more about traversing the tall grass than us. I traveled with unease.

Bow Yesime pulled up to my side with Sultel. His face carried a subtle trace of worry. He looked strong in his Ranger Guard armor, plated with moonstone under layered plates of leathers. Feathers stretched out from his face guard tethered into his dark brown hood. My raven black leathers were forged in the likeness of his armor except for the reinforcement of moonstone. I like to keep myself light and thought it nothing marching into a battle where our enemies will be donning leathers as well.

'We're in the enemy's territory, Watchmaster. We should—' His words were cut off as a _Feather_ dropped abruptly with a sickening crunch, an arrow protruding from his left eye.

I signaled for all to take quick cover. Many of them did not need the order. I ran for cover behind a ridge, scanning the forest. Only Ranger Guard stalked the forest; some behind me and others hopping from one bough to the next. They all stopped in their tracks. I knew that Monsotar would leave a trap to slow us down, but I didn't realize they'd be this far from Centaurcrass.

'Shield wall!' Yesime ordered. Those hold diamond shields spun a gleaming wall of metal around their comrades.

High above in the trees, clattering began and the high resound twangs of bowstrings sung a cacophony of warfare, but I couldn't pinpoint the enemy's location. A small girl, smaller than me, wearing an _arrow tip_ emblem emblazoned on her chest was standing near the twisted root of a tree when a sword struck out and sliced cleanly down the center of her breast. Gore spilled from her as the top half of her body slid into the tall grass leaving the bottom half still standing. More arrows barraged the right flank of my archery. I twirled on the balls of my feet as three arrows came streaming through the air towards me. My sword's instincts jolted to life, sending power coursing through my body as _Ghost Flame_ ripped from Nocturnal's Talon nestled in my back scabbard. The violet flames form a sort of shell around my body as the arrows hit and disintegrated into ash. I slipped the Lockharte's heirloom Iron-Bark bow into my hands and notched an arrow on its bowstring. I had no enemy to fire upon, but I let loose the arrow towards the direction the enemy arrows flew from. It landed inched into the bark of the tree. A loud groan resounded and a Bosmer peeled from the bark and fell dead. Some sort of spell dispersed from him, turning from tree bark to normal leathers.

'The trees!' I called. 'They're camouflaged as the trees!' I should've known Monsotar's Nightblades were so clever as to hide in plain sight.

The scene exploded into horror as the forest around us awoke with bloodshed. What was once the plant life of the grove exploded into enemies as they disengaged their clever Illusion spell.

The battle had started.

I ripped through the tall grass towards the nearest bout of enemies. Monsotar's main force—the Nightblades; known for their use of Illusion and Alteration magicks. I smacked one down with my bow, cracking his head open and leaking his brain as several teeth flung from his mouth. As a swordsman, I was strong, but with archery, there was no stopping me. I sent two arrows into another, leaving him armless and choking on his own blood as one arrow caught him right through the throat. I bent down, narrowly slipping under a thrown ax whistling towards my head. Sultel moved like a gale wind, carving through the onslaught as if they were nothing but dummies in his wake. I didn't have time to admire the sickly old man's prowess. But to see what a fighter that trained under my mother would otherwise put a pause in my step in any other circumstance.

Monsotar's men were plucked off one by one by my arrows. Each shot landed dead center in their heart; their armor proving nothing but a failure against my marksmanship. Across the forest floor, the Ranger Guard met the league of criminals with a hard force, their organization was far superior despite the Nightblade's attempts at the ambush. Another tree dissolved into another dozen Nightblades. And then another and another. Using the Illusion school to disguise themselves as trees was certainly a genius move on their part, but I came to kill Monsotar, and I was ready for anything he could throw at us. All the pieces were in place. Today was the day he will fall.

I ran further into the grove, an offset _Quiver_ sprinting behind. Orc was separated during the first wave of enemies. The Divines will carry him through. Larethia and Grim were somewhere mixed in with the Ranger Guardians.

'Raven, above!' Larethia voiced ranged out as she used wind magicks to fly up.

Their numbers were staggering. A black cloud darkened the soft glow of the Y'ffre Light from up above. I jumped up, Nocturnal's Talon at the ready. Power bubbled forth from the blade, _Ghost Flame_ pouring out in its violet magnificence. The _Ghost Flame_ flared outward, capturing the cloud of arrows in an embrace of destruction. My mother's very willpower transformed the essence of Oblivion into what we see: A cold fire that turns whatever it touches ash instantly. It was my defense and my attack. I slashed through the barrage of arrows, turning the battlefield into a storm of ash.

Landing on a bough, I dashed into a brigade, carving through all with relative ease. I let my mind go; giving my body to total instinct. My blade moved back and forth. Through every motion, not one move was wasted energy. Screams and cries rose around me but I ignored every last plea. Larethia landed at my side along with three other Ranger Guard. We came in hot, gutting our enemies and leaving them for the buzzards to feast.

Under my wing were Larethia, Orc, Grim, Sultel, and Milkar. But I haven't seen my brother since the carnage started. Fire blasts, ice spikes, and lightning bolts streamed down in the underbrush. The tall grass looking redder with the slaughter.

When one the group of Nightblades was finished, I hopped off the bough onto a vine and swung across to another tree. The bark shimmered, revealing faint faces in its meat. A simple drag of my sword as I wrapped around the tree's bough dispersed the Illusion spell, and a dozen Bosmer criminals fell dead to the floor. The tree tumbled down, breaking and transforming to a surplus of Nightblade warriors. I landed in front of them ready for round three. Or was it four? It didn't matter. Monsotar was going to fall, and anyone that followed him will follow him to the grave.

'Watchmaster!'

I turned to see the _archery_ shift in their positions. Dozens, no hundreds of trees breaking down into thousands of enemies at once. Dread spread across my guardians' faces the enemy began to outnumber and swarm us. Monsotar must've stretched his main force for this ambush. If I didn't do something, they'll overrun us within the hour.

I fought through the mass of bodies to come to a circle of trampled underbrush and gore. Bow Yesime fought with the ferocity of a wild cat, brandishing two shortswords, one of his own and one taken from a fallen guardian. He pierced one Nightblade, twirled to meet an ice spike hurdling his way and sliced the spell in two before jumping through the air and cutting down the caster. I came in with my sword severing the forearms of one unfortunate moron. An arrow cut across the expanse and grazed my shoulder. I roared, unleashing a flurry of _Ghost Flame_ that fissured twenty meters before me, catching on more than two dozen enemies and turning them into chalk.

'We need an out,' I called.

Yesime grunted, ripping his blades free of a belly. 'If you figure something out, tell me, Watchmaster.'

'I have a plan, but you're gonna have to call a retreat.'

'The Ranger Guard doesn't know such a command.' He said with clenched jaws.

'Godsdammit! So, send them east.' I barked. 'Else they're all gonna get caught in my blast.'

'We'll give you some coverage.' The Leucrota dropped on my flanks.

Orc unleashed a savage howl. Grim and Larethia joined him in the maniac calls. I couldn't help but allow myself to smile. I lifted my mouth to the air and breathed out a long, drawling howl. Whirlwinds sound around Larethia's hands as she unleashed a gale wind the blasted an opening for me to step in.

My body jolted; rolling my eyes towards the back of my head as power surged through my sword, allowing me to drink it in. Intoxicated with its effects, I could do anything. It's said Mother had the power to end armies if she wanted to. I turned a hundred Aldmeri Dominion soldiers to ash from a simple spike of my anger. What must I do to tap the power within once more?

I raised Nocturnal's Talon so that the blade pointed straight out. The swarm of enemies was like a hive of marabuntas protecting their home. No form to their attack; no organization of priorities. Their goal was to just kill and hurt. The _Ghost Flame_ bubbled onto the blade, then like a stick thrown into a fire, it burst into flames. Not a roaring fire, but a dancing flicker of a candle. Then it began to wave like a torch, jetting forward faster and faster until it streamed into a focused jet as if bellowed forth like a dragon's breath. My heart thumped against my chest as the pressure of power began to build up within my body, down my arm, and back into the sword.

I let it all go at once.

The violet-colored flame went forth not as a wind in a storm but as an impending tsunami when the earth shakes at the center of the sea. Nothing could stop it; not a mage; not a damned Divine.

There were no cries, no pondering or dazed survivors filled with war-shock. Not even a wake of destruction to punctuate what I had done. Only a white plane of powder remained. Trees and underbrush that once covered this corner of the forest no longer existed, becoming ash along with the thousands of enemies that threatened to run us in. I opened up a wide clearing hundred meters in diameter, but it left the wake of the blast as white as snow. The ground turned glassy as the sun's glare finally reached to what once was a forest floor. Now it seemed as if it was a wasteland made of ash. A white blotch surrounded by a sea of green. I burned the forest, but it will grow back in time.

Such power was too terrifying, even for the Leucrota that stared in awe behind me. And to think this _Ghost Flame_ was only a sliver of Ara High-Arrow's own.

To be completely honest, Mother limited her power to the form of a bow and arrow. For good reason. Even then, it earned her the epitaph of Ara of the _Ghost Bow_. But she was not a ghost. She was a force of the Divines in elven form.

I slipped Nocturnal's Talon into its scabbard and took a knee. I scooped up a hand full of ash and washed my hands in it. I was aware of Larethia, Grim, and Orc staring at me as I did so. They said nothing.

Those Bosmer were mortals they once played on the same team with. Jobs were done, and sometimes bonds were made. But unlike the Leucrota, they made the mistake of choosing the wrong side; the mistake of going against me.

Orc unleashed another howl with more conviction than he's ever done so before.

Running back into the forest showed me that the Thieves of the Wood weren't done with their ambush. Was it five thousand? Maybe ten thousand under the feet of Monsotar? They were endless. Now with just the four of us rushing to Centaurcrass, making it to Monsotar seemed a bit of an impossibility. Even the impossible was not going to stop me.

'Where is Milkar?' I grunted as we were converged upon the battlefield.

The broken Iron-Bark Graht-Oak loomed above. We were much closer to the Woods' den now. Signs of its roots snaking throughout the grove were beginning to show. The roaring bustling, clinking of swords, twangs of recurve bows, and sputtering of Destruction magicks rang in the air some distance away. We were saved from being overrun, but their spearhead was still met with desperate resistance.

We caught up with the few straggling fights that didn't keep up with the main part of the battle. Few of the Ranger Guard were deadlocked with Nightblades from the ground and among the trees. This was considered "the rear of the front line". I ferociously cut through their numbers as quickly as I could, gathering a following of those I helped.

Elren, Aranwen, Gwendalyn, and Esmond were holding the northern flank with Milkar and I coming from the west. I hoped they were okay. Milkar should've been here at my side; his absence worried me; however, I knew he was capable of surviving this fight on his own. My goal dominated the skies above us now. We were in the view of Centaurcrass. Its root created large ridgelines across the grove, sectioning off the valleys of its base.

'Nice of you to catch up, daughter of Ara.' Sultel Worm-Flower said from on top of a root wall. His rapier was bone white and clean.

'Sultel! Have you seen Milkar?' I asked him.

He put a finger to his chin. 'Hmm. I can't say I have. But then again, he does wield the Usurper's sword. He probably slipped past us without anyone noticing.'

Pondus' enchantment helped Milkar slip in and out of existence to travel instantly across a distance. He must've used it when the battle started, but where did he go if not closer to the Graht-Oak?

I sighed. 'Why would that man just run off on his own?'

Sultel hopped from the root wall and landed beside us. 'The boy isn't under your command. In fact, he's supposedly your leader, no?'

Did I forget? This war, this entire feud against Monsotar was only a blood rage that I adopted from Milkar. Wherever he was, I'm sure his pursuit was his own goals. I closed my eye and drank in the air to clear my mind. Where ever he was, I hoped he helped further our success.

We made our way under the shadow of Centaurcrass where the grass grew its longest. The battle raged on. With Ranger Guard's frontal attack on what was left of the Nightblades, I found myself searching every corner for the northern advance. Elren and the others were supposed to rendezvous under the file dry root walls of the broken Graht-Oak. There was blood and bodies everywhere. Some riddled with arrows, some cleaved by melee, and others unrecognizable by magicks. What was once a long forest of grass as tall as trees became trampled and muddied by warfare. We fought on.

'Look what we have here.'

I spun around to block a hurdling ax flying my way. Its blade met mine and before Nocturnal's Talon could burn it, the ax returned to its owner on a magical tether. Three Nightblades stood before us in full Crow leathers. One green, one brown, and one a stark black. It seemed Monsotar wasted no time in replacing his special bodyguards that I hunted down and killed myself. My sword vibrated as if happy to fight someone strong.

'All three Crows gifted to me on a silver platter,' I said with a smile curling my lips. 'Either Monsotar is inexperienced with war, or he's deliberately trying to lose. Which is it?'

'You must be the famed Black Raven,' the green armored Crow said. 'No.' He chuckled. 'We are actually here on our own volition.'

'You see,' the Crow in brown started, 'we heard that Leila Lockharte was leading a charge against the Thieves of the Wood. So, instead of being the charge of our fronts, we decided to take it upon ourselves to bring Monsotar your head. But we're no fools—we'll need all three of us together to make that happen.'

I nodded. All around me the battle raged on. Ranger Guard killed Nightblades, and Nightblades killed Ranger Guard. We were grossly outnumbered. These demons came from everywhere; every corner and every overturned rock. I hated them all. I will destroy them.

'Leila, we don't have time for only three of these bastards,' Larethia seethed.

I patted Larethia on the pauldron. 'If I allow my army to fight these three, I'll lose too many of them before they fell. I'll end their lives here and now.' I pointed towards the north. 'I need you all to go and support the others.' I quickly turned to Larethia and took an intimate moment to look her in the eyes. 'You've helped me all these months to get this far. All of you did. I thank for being at my side. You've become a part of my family, and I would die for every one of you. But now I need to ask one more thing of you three: Find Elren. Find him and protect him.'

'Raven, we don't—'

'Do this for me, Grim!' I exclaimed. 'I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. I took over your Leucrota, and a lot of you died under my black wings. This might be the last order I give to you. If you wish, you can turn away. Take whatever you've learned from this life and go live wonderfully and free. If you stay, then know you will not earn eternal life, you will not know glory. This is merely annihilation in shadow. Criminals versus criminals. I have grown to love you, but I will not hesitate to spend your lives as I would from the first moments of meeting you.' I turned from them, subverting my attention to the three new Crows that stood before me.

'Never pulling any punches, gods-damn it, Raven,' Orc coughed.

The Leucrota stood in silence, but I knew their courage never wavered. This lot were rogues. It would take nothing for them to flee this battlefield and go and live their best lives somewhere far from this land. They could find peace elsewhere, find riches even—they had the skills—they could find happiness where I would only offer them heartbreak. My life began with a rebellion, and it will end with a rebellion.

'Fine,' Larethia said, stiffening in her resolve. 'But promise us that you will win.'

'I'll win,' I promised.

They departed with a nod, Sultel with them. I turned towards my foes as they watched me.

'So, you must be stronger than Disnel and Sevyn, I presumed? What about Rindiel?'

The Crow in black cracked a sinister smile. They each had their own unique assortment of weapons. One held an ax, the same one that attacked me earlier. He used a magical tether for mid-range attacks. The Crow in green held serrated twin swords, sinister spines dotted the blade which was slick with blood. The final Crow, I saw before within the ranks of the Woods. The Trotter they called him. His specialty was conjuration like Andalf or Mondo. They were prestigious in a manner of speaking. It was no wonder they became Monsotar's new Crows.

The Black Crow moved with unnatural speed. He swiped at me with his ax, but I doubled in my defense. I watched his rouse. The ax flew left, and he went right. He studded his feet into the mud and ripped the magical tendril back towards him. The ax sped towards me. I had no choice but to dodge it, leaving me open to the other two. Conjured darts sped past my head, I twitched my head to the side, the second one ripped across my brow. I landed, blood trickling down from the wound. The ground under me began to rumble. I jumped again. As two serrated blades emerged from the ground, the Green Crow made surface from underneath. A hot burn ripped against the flesh of my legs. The Black Crow's ax crunched against my ribs, and I fell.

I led the original crows into their deaths. Sevyn's death was the most satisfying. Her cries of terror when the fires consumed her body taught me of the darkness that filled my heart. And Disnel's look of surprise when Rindiel cut his colossal ego down to size. Although I dipped my hands in the machinations of their deaths, it never came down to fighting them one on one. My skin prickled at the thought of going against these three. If they held the title of Crow, then it was assured that they were the best of the Thieves of the Wood.

I stood on quivering legs. My heart pounded blood throughout my body so heavily, I could feel the veins around my head pulsing. Nocturnal's Talon begged me to unleash its violet fury. I quelled the fury in my heart. He's probably watching his Crows do their work, and _Ghost Flame_ was my trump card. Monsotar was throwing everything he had at this battle, and I've only just begun.

My hands trembled in the wake of the battle. The nerves in my jaws squeezed with excitement as if hungering for the challenge. They watched me, awaiting the right time to strike. This war wasn't dazzling like the stories would tell you. Bodies litter the forest floor, blood mixed with soil become a red mud that smelled of wet copper. The taste of volatiles emitted by the cry of wounded flora sends my saliva into a frenzy. Thanks to the adrenaline and Nocturnal's Talon's enchantment, my senses were hyper. I can taste everything, feel the vibrations of movement underfoot. Across the Grove, I could see my friends fighting on, stripping a path to Centaurcrass.

The Crow with the brown armor slid his foot into a stance. I worked out what his sword's enchantment was, and it could eat through soil and rock like a power-packed mole, but he wasn't the finisher. That was the Black Crow's job. The main one I needed to watch. But if I wasn't careful, the other two could end my life as well. I needed to break their combination of attacks.

The Black Crow came in with a charge, instead of watching him, I kept my eyes on his ax. He flung it wide, and I jumped. Quickly, pretending to be distracted, I whipped a throwing knife onto my palm and launched it at the Green Crow. It did its work as he took the time to dodge, breaking their teamwork. I focused on the Black Crow; he was closer than I thought. We collided in the air, his ax hurdling back towards me. I grabbed him, wrestling his arms back and twisted us around. _Thud._ He went limp, and we fell. Only one of us rose, his own weapon protruding from his spine. I set the violet flames to his body.

The other two regrouped. Sweat beaded on their brows; desperation set in their eyes. They were stunned, and that made them fear me.

'You bitch!' The Green Crow growled through clenched teeth.

'What do we do now, Niatur?' The Brown Crow asked

'We should go…'

I slipped Nocturnal's Talon back into its scabbard and pointed behind them. 'I'm not alone in this fight,' I said. They didn't have the chance. Blades crunched through their skulls. As their bodies slid to the ground, Milkar and Crestel stood like two pillars of strength.

'Thought you abandoned us.' Milkar's emerald eyes flickered.

'Just bringing up the calvary.' He chucked his head towards Crestel.

My body relaxed slightly. To see a member of the Elder Guard here, and the First Seat, no less, was a miracle. 'I'm glad you could be here, cousin.'

'And with good reason.' Crestel wore a grim frown. 'The _Archeries_ are taking a beating, Leila.'

'Ambushed,' I informed him. 'Monsotar always understood that if the hierarchy of Valenwood turned their arrowheads towards his guild it'll be all over. He's desperate, so he's throwing everything at me in the grove.'

Crestel wiped the blood from his shortsword with his elder cape. 'Doesn't seem like a well-thought strategy. It might be a trap.'

'He already sprung that one,' I said.

Crestel rubbed the butt of his chin in contemplation. He looked at the killing field. 'It is a trap.'

'What?'

'Crestel is right,' Milkar interjected. 'The Ranger Guard's advantage is in the trees, not the grass. He's making you confident. Or at least, the army.'

Crestel agreed. 'Held you back with his best fighters.'

'In retrospect, Monsotar doesn't need his guild to fight. He can end this whole thing by himself.'

'Then our best bet is to spearhead through,' Milkar said.

They both nodded in agreement. But were the three of us enough to reach Centaurcrass and confront Monsotar? The way I understood it, this was all a parade for Monsotar, he only wanted me when the time was right. He molded me into the raven, or so he thought. This was what I was born for; what the raven led me through the forest for—this was my destiny.

I withdrew the Watchmaster's badge of office and led my brother and cousin into the heart of the battle. We ripped through the onslaught of enemies alongside our allies. The time for orders has long passed. The fog of war was a deafening and blinding thing,

I am a herald of their death. I have earned the names that my enemies shiver when they are muttered. I lead Crestel and Milkar to the front of the front lines. An uncomfortable feeling reeled me to a halt. The Ranger Guard are unchallenged here. Stragglers of the Woods are put to quick deaths, but the main force had retreated back into the broken Graht-Oak. Crestel may have been right.

The trouncing of battle battered the tall grass, leaving a clear view of the Centaurcrass. That's when I heard grumbling through the ground and a hiss of the air. Heat brought sweat to my body. Unnatural heat, radiating a sinister proclamation of death. I knew it for what it was.

'What is that?' My brother asked with desperate turns of his head.

Crestel and I met eyes. 'Monsotar is making his move,' Crestel said.

There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. My Ranger Guard fought in the open. We thought we had them on the wall. We were wrong. And that mistake will cost us dearly.

'Retreat!' I began to call. 'Retreat! Get away from the tree!'

They were locked in battle, unable to hear my cries. Only the nearest of the Guard heard our pleas for a retreat. They began to echo the order, but it was too late. I jumped in the middle of the battle, hoping to leverage as many lives as I can. My eyes darted to every root-wall, every corner, every Ranger Guardian I could see. My friends were nowhere to be seen. My Leucrota, my Silver Crescents, my Elren! Where were they?

I had Nocturnal's Talon in my hand in a flash, pulsating with power. _Ghost Flame_ sprouted from the edge of the blade. 'Retreat!' I ordered one last time. My throat had grown dry, my muscles too fatigued to run away. Even the remaining members of the Thieves of the Wood felt the blistering heat that waved over the entire grove, extending out from Centaurcrass in every which way. I tried to call for Elren, but only an air-dry heave escaped my mouth instead.

Fucking godsdammit! It was far too late. I watched their faces. The impending doom as they all tried to flee. I grabbed my brother by his arm and Crestel by his cloak and slammed them both to the muddied ground. The golden sea of flame swelled at the base of Centaurcrass, hotter than a pit crater spewing its guts to the surface. Seeing the flames shoot out was like watching the Red Mountain of Vvardenfell erupt its anger out on Nirn, punishing the world for its shortcomings. Without a moment's hesitation, I plunged my sword down into the mud, allowing _Ghost Flame_ to stretch over our world and meet the golden flames with a loud thunderous hiss. In the grey clouds, lightning crackled as the spew of red heat gave a glimpse into a scene of Oblivion. I felt the coldness of the violet flame slam against the heat of the sheer, overwhelming force of Monsotar's mighty Goldfire.

Through the deafening roar, I could only think of one thing. I could even hear it in my mind. That laugh— _his_ laugh—echoing over and over.


	46. Ara's Legacy

_If I'm a villain, then I'm the one you root for._

* * *

Chapter 46: Ara's Legacy

I stumbled to my feet. Heat drains you of your energy quickly. In the hottest parts of the Reaper's March, if you ever found yourself absent of water, your death is bound. My throat grew raw from simply breathing, my head pounded from the dehydration. I was dying, but I was alive. _Ghost Flame_ slithered back into Nocturnal's Talon with a hiss. The scene before me was something cut from a glimpse of Oblivion on Nirn. They said visions like this was were commonplace in the war against the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon. Reaching out from the base of Centaurcrass, all flora was completely decimated and burned asunder. What was left was a flurry of white and gray ash, a wide field a mile out.

War was about death. The enemy's death and subsequently yours. Blotches of black peppered the battlefield. Elven form. Mortals who once walked this plane of existence now dead and burned. The explosion painted the skies orange with a tinge of red. No fires remained, however. The dead were no longer flesh and blood but ash that crumbled at any slight touch. The air was far past the smell of burning, but a waft of long-forgotten soot left a tang in the air.

Crestel was the first to stand, shaking ash from his armor, his eyes red in the sclera and dried to oblivion. 'Water…' He cried. I've never heard his voice so weak.

I dug Nocturnal's Talon from its perch in the ground—I didn't dare sheathe it again—and tossed Crestel my waterskin. He tilted it back.

'It's boiling hot!' He rasped, spitting it out.

'Don't go wasting water, Cousin.' Milkar warped back to my side.

'You used Pondus?' I asked my brother. He was unscathed.

Milkar nodded. 'This sword has saved me on many occasions in Oblivion.'

I smiled despite myself and nodded. Admiration filled my heart.

Crestel pounded his fist into his palm. 'This was not supposed to happen. If I knew how powerful Monsotar has grown—'

'Now's not the time to reflect on the past,' I said, indifference salted in my tone. 'We're here now.'

'Watchmaster!' A lanky _Bow_ with a hooked nose darted towards me. 'Watchmaster!' He skidded to a halt, fostering a cloud of ash in the process, and stood to salute me. The Bosmer's leathers were ripped in several spots, burned in others. A scathing red scar ran a trail over his head.

'Report?'

'The bulk of our force… they're… they're all dead. But—'

More rumbling in the distance. This time it wasn't the roar of fire, but a stomp of something large instead.

I ground my teeth. 'Finish.'

'Only about five hundred…' he looked back towards the tree line where the firestorm ended its tirade across the battlefield. 'Only five hundred of us survived. Most severely wounded.'

I closed my eyes tight, unable to swallow what little moisture I held in my throat. 'You did good, Bow.' I placed an affectionate hand on the Ranger's shoulder.

'What are your orders, Watchmaster?'

'We might have to retreat, Leila.' Crestel let the proposition linger in the air.

Retreat? Retreat now? I came so far, how could I retreat? That wasn't in my list of options. I've been through so much, _too_ much to simply leave now after I came so far. I couldn't leave without Monsotar's head, I needed to see him die here, today. There was no retreating, not now, not ever.

I said nothing and watched the ground rumble again. A hand braced against my back. I turned towards my brother. 'Send them home, Leila.'

'And you? The Silver Crescents? All that we've sacrificed until now will be for nothing!'

'I said nothing of me or the Crescents,' Milkar said with a jagged grin. 'I told myself from a young age that I would see Valenwood fixed. And I will see it through until my last breath. This is it for me if there is nothing else.'

I looked into Milkar's sparkling emerald eyes. Those perfect jewels my brothers and I share glistened. The world had become ash all around us. Our plan failed terribly, and Monsotar was on the cusp of winning a fight he barely fought himself. But here was Milkar Lockharte, the storm that Valenwood was not ready for. I knew hope was not at all lost. To what depth would his resolve endure?

I turned to the _Bow_ once more. 'How many of Monsotar's forces remain?'

He did a confused half shrug before answering. 'Still thousands. We believe most are regrouping in the—'

A feathered shaft sprouted from his eye as if by some dark magic.

He crumpled, revealing an army of dark armored Nightblades pouring from the base of Centaurcrass. I moved instinctively, raising my sword bisecting another arrow aimed for my heart. Arrows filled the sky with black death and rained down a hailstorm of chaos. _Ghost Flame_ grew into a half barrier, covering Crestel, Milkar, and I.

The ground shook again. The rumbling was much closer.

'Crestel,' I said, my voice held an intense focus. I threw the Watchmaster's shortsword at his feet. 'Take any surviving members of the Ranger Guard and retreat.'

'You two won't survive this alone,' he said as an arrow whizzed past his cheek. He didn't flinch, and the intensity in his stare was undying.

'We're not alone,' Milkar told him. Rumbling again.

Crestel looked towards the distant trees. It was hard to see in the half-light of the night, but they were there. Still fighting. Our friends.

Crestel shrugged and turned back to us. 'Okay, listen. You two are family, and no matter what paths you've taken in life, I've always respected all of you. You didn't have Ara, and you didn't have Faeden. So, what I'm about to say to you may not mean much. This is not an ideal plan for either of you. If I retreat with the Ranger Guard now, and without you both, you'll face criminal charges for desertion. You'll be placed on the highest spot in the black target books of all Ranger Guard.' He looked from Milkar to me. 'Especially you, being that you're the current Watchmaster.'

I nodded. 'I understand. And I'm sure you'll vote the best and strongest choice for the next Watchmaster. As of right now, my only goal is to kill Monsotar and end this madness once and for all.'

Crestel shook his head and let out an airy laugh. 'You are certainly amazing, Leila.' He took a step back towards the end of the flaming barrier. 'Your mother would have done the same thing.' Crestel waited for a second before snapping to attention and saluting. 'Those of the Ranger Guard that wishes to stay with you may stay, those wishing to retreat can come with me.'

'Thank you, Crestel.'

'Nope.' Crestel shook his head. 'Thank _you_ , Leila. You've shown me how much Valenwood has changed in these past few years. And that there are even heroes, not living in the limelight, but living in the shadows as rogues. For all of us that see who you truly are, we are proud.'

And without further disruption, Crestel took the Watchmaster's shortsword—the badge of the official office—and all Ranger Guard that survived under my _Ghost Flame_ barrier before leading them in the opposite direction of Centaurcrass. To the North, where Elren was supposed to be, more rumbling. I heard the cries of Bosmer—the roars of war.

'Well, what now? It's just us.' Milkar asked.

I slipped my Iron-Bark bow from its straddle and examined the intricate design across its form. The wood warmed my palms, the design is of a recurve for power. The pattern was carved ornamental on its limbs. This wood was grey and metallic-like the broken Graht-Oak before me. Iron-Bark was wood, there's nothing in its alchemic make-up that could suggest it was anything else. However, if you told a smith that has never held nor heard of such an abomination of Y'ffre's forest, he'd tell you the thing was metal. I wondered about it many a night; how my father's family came to produce the stuff; how it was legal to farm Iron-Bark trees and cultivate Iron-Bark Graht-Oaks.

No matter how many years I've used the bow, my arm always strained to wield it. It carried weight. The weight of an entire family.

'One girl with a bow.' Milkar held Pondus. That sword, owned by the Camoran Usurper, also made of Iron-Bark, makes Milkar formidable in a wide-open battlefield. Perhaps he was alone enough to end Monsotar. But I knew, just as much as he did, that it had to be me.

And it _will_ be me.

With my Iron-Bark bow in one hand and Nocturnal's Talon in the other, I let _Ghost Flame_ ride down my sword's blade. The dark flames flickered to life with a flurry. Monsotar's forces grew from dots under the towering Centaurcrass to a line of angry wood elves as they grew closer. I laid my sword's tip to my bow and let the flame engulf it. _Ghost_ Flame spread over the bow, burning heavily across the Iron-Bark. Against my own flesh, the power held no effect. It neither hurt nor burned me. I raised the heirloom high and took aim.

When each arrow touched the bow, they too were enchanted by the flowing flames.

The first arrow took them by surprise. A dozen turned to ash instantly. The arrow not stopping its path through body and limb before disintegrating in flight. They scrambled to defend against it. They couldn't—not against this power. My mother was known for her rendition of the _Ghost Flame_ by making it into a flaming bow, she was unstoppable. I converged on them like a hungry beast, a thousand to one. Three, six, ten, fifteen; I counted each kill as my arrows shot through them with relative ease. I was at the center of a monster legion of killers. More Nightblade thieves poured from Centaurcrass; more died by the tip of these arrows.

'Keep them coming, Monsotar. Keep sending your thrall-minded minions so that I may end their lives before your eyes.'

 _Know that it was I, the daughter of your master, that defeated you._

Blades came down upon me, but I moved swiftly through the crowd. I punched one elf's face in, caving his skull, spun on my heel and sent an arrow to another's head. It took four others with him to Oblivion. I roared and jumped, releasing another arrow, taking the lives of another group of four. There was no time for them to scream as they watched their bodies disintegrate into nothingness.

My bow was the last victim of the _Ghost Flame_. It dwindled and grew lighter. The Iron-Bark could only take so much, and finally, the bow itself crumbled to dust. They came now, full force. I ducked under a thrashing ax, slipped between a pair of legs, flailing out with my dagger. The Bosmer fell to his knees as I jabbed the dagger through the back of his head. I spun puncturing the arm of a killing blow and dragged the blade through the center of his arm. Two more came at me. I leaped, kicking both backward and launched throwing knives into their throats. I spun with my dual-wielded knives, filleting limbs, cutting throats and faces, and ending the lives of my enemies with no remorse.

I would kill them all to get inside.

My arms grew tired; my breath, hard to catch. Every fiber of my muscles burned with fatigue.

 _Keep going. Keep fighting._

For everyone I loved, I needed to win.

I slipped. I just needed a second to breathe. One measly second. The Woods saw me fall to the ground. They converged.

A rush of air passed over me. The ground shook like an earthquake. A trumpet echoed, nearly deafening me. I rolled out of the way before the beast crushed me underfoot. The Mother of Gilden collided with the bulk of Monsotar's forces, plowing it's massive, wooly head against the wall of leathered nightblades.

'Hahahaha. Whew! Now that's what I call a fine rescue!'

There they were: Aranwen, Gwendalyn, Esmond, and Elren. Behind them, the emtirety of the Raw Tooth clan springing to action.

'Do you have any other mood than frantic glee?' Gwendalyn asked my brother.

I watched as three hundred-ton beasts smashed through the Woods with unrelenting force, crushing souls in their wake. Cries roared out as tusks as long as branches skewered them in one fell swoop of their heads. Sitting on a large platform saddle was First Lady Belwa. She looked down at me with a glinting smile. As the leader of the Raw Tooth, she knew the importance of this fight. If I didn't win, we were all doomed.

'I couldn't thank you all enough,' I told them.

'Thank us?' Esmond released an ice spike. 'There's no need.'

I felt a hand land on my shoulder. 'The shadows of your wings spread far, Black Raven of Shimmer Root. You've brought all of these people together to plow through this impenetrable wall that has been looming over Valenwood for far too long. The least we all could do, my lady, is thank _you_.' Lady Belwa pushed on with her clan.

'It's time,' Elren pointed towards the entrance to Centaurcrass.

I looked at the Silver Crescents and seen how far my people have grown. My heart still aches for Ceril and Sickle Ear who died fighting for what they believed in—a Valenwood without the corruption that has plagued and killed their own, but I rejoiced to know they're looking down at us from Aetherius. I held my head up strong and pointed towards the Graht-Oak.

Elren held out his hand with a smile, and I took it.

We exploded into the tree. Esmond's magelight shot out to all corners of the dark foyer. Nightblades countered in force, but they were no match for our combined effort. I rushed in with Elren. His nimble attacks gave him an edge where losing an arm would have left him vulnerable. I've underestimated Elren far too many times. He was a true warrior in all respects.

I cut into an enemy's palm and turned on the violet flames. As he became dust, I carved into a group, spinning around into the next victims. A sword strafed my armor, but I flipped over his back, pulling up on my blade and slicing him completely in half. Arrows whizz passed me, one grazing my left shoulder. I caught the third and snapped it while swinging my blade at the archer that released it. The _Ghost Flame_ shot out and clung to him. He burned in an instant.

While the others were busy, a trio of Milkar, Elren, and I burst down a wounding corridor. This was going to lead us straight up to Monsotar's quarters.

More Woods poured through the corridor. Milkar used his sword's enchantment and teleported himself between them. He was a ferocious monster and they, feeble prey. Limbs separated from bodies, bodies were left torn, and blood flooded the ground.

'This way!' I turned into a flight of winding stairs.

Elren rushed in front of me, seemingly flying up the stairs. He exploded through a leaf veil, stabbing the nearest Nightblade. I came in, cutting clean through the head of another. Milkar moved with an unstoppable force to clean up the rest guarding Monsotar's chambers.

We looked wild. Our armor fringed at the edges; our hair, a mess; and blood caked in every crevice of our bodies. Nothing could stop us.

'This is it,' I said, halting. Two leaf-veils set in front of us. 'Behind this is Monsotar.' Memories of the horrors I experienced flooded me with unease. He killed my friends, forced me to eat their flesh, and raped me for a fortnight while I believed my family to be dead.

'We'll win,' Milkar said, reassuringly. 'Whatever happens behind this leaf-veil, I know we'll always be family. We are the Silver Crescents! Our vision of the future will not stop at this.'

Elren and I both nodded. I approached the tall leaves and made a small puncture with Nocturnal's Talon. The veil burned away at the slightest hint of power. The chamber was bathed in the gloom of low bearing mushrooms and orchids. The table where we sat and ate dinner for six moons sat barren. The air was stale as if time itself kept it in place. Life didn't move in there. I walked in slowly, Milkar and Elren taking steady steps behind me.

'Raven.'

Up the dais, Montedor stood beside his father who was kneeled over his son. Monsotar Handseed still wore his leather tunic over a bare chest with strapped breeches buckled down to his ankles. His body was chiseled with muscle despite his natural slim build. Goldfire hung from his belt.

Montedor bit his lip and turned back towards his father. Those eyes weren't the ones of a genocidal maniac I knew they were capable of, but that of a concerned father. He whispered something to his son and stood, leaving a hand placed on the boy's rough mane of rustic hair.

Rindiel grabbed Montedor's arm and pointed toward a sliver in the tree's hard bark. Rindiel of the Red Moss; Elren's uncle wore that polished Ossenium armor when we first fought. He looked more ready for war than Monsotar did.

'Hatred looks good on you, my Young Raven.'

'And it is my hatred that has brought me this far, Monsotar.' I watched his hands. 'Why don't you give this up? Your Thieves of the Wood are routed. Those who support you have dwindled. You no longer have any friends.'

Monsotar grinned and chucked a finger back towards Rindiel. 'Like brother; like sister. You've managed to take away the closest person away from me.' He shook his head. 'But then again, I don't think Rindiel was ever my… friend.'

Rindiel gripped his sword.

'Well,' Monsotar said, gesturing towards Leila, 'I've known that you've loved her for a long tim; don't hesitate now to join her side now.'

Rindiel made his move: a quick slash from the scabbard. Monsotar was too quick and sidestepped the attack. Rindiel came back, his blade singing. Monsotar drew Goldfire and blocked it with an underhanded grip almost too easily.

'It hurts less when you're honest about your feelings,' Monsotar said. A sparing gesture, but mocking all the same.

Monsotar dropped his guard, allowing Rindiel to hop backward, retreating to our side. I stepped forward. 'This is my fight.'

I knew I had to be the one to kill him. The Raven versus the Crow.

'I was eleven when I fell in love with her, you know?' Monsotar gave me a fond smile. 'She was the pinnacle of light. A dreamer that can make certain realities before your very eyes. I was always distant from the others, including my own brother, but Ara and I were so close.' He traced a finger down the foyer of his blade. 'Everything I know about fighting, I learned from her. There was something about it.'

There is a curse among those who have been touched by my mother's blinding light. She just burned brighter than all of us, and there was not anything we could do to match it. It sent the world around her into a spiraling depression. How could anyone be like that?

'It wasn't that long ago when you said that you and I were one and the same.' An electrifying explosion of nerves sent shivers down the crux of my back. Talking to Monsotar here like this was the one thing I strived for, for so long. 'I refused to believe such a thing. You and I were the furthest from each other anyone can possibly be.' I shook my head slowly. 'But I admit that your words do have some truth to it. You and I, the crow and the raven are two sides of the same coin. We both wanted to save Valenwood from itself and from those that would take advantage of it, but you've steeped too low, sacrificed too much and too many for that goal. I was falling into the same trap, and because of that, I can't see myself in the same position of power you've climbed to. My destiny is to ensure that those who do find themselves on the throne of roguery will not dissent into depravity.'

'Dissent into depravity?' Milkar riled a smile. 'Is that what happened to me? We were orphans: my brother, Esmond, Sultel, and I. And we were found living in this carcass of a Graht-Oak by your mother. She trained us, raised us; she taught us that even in the cruelty of this world there are wonders that we can love. She gave us hope by telling us that four little orphans can make a difference. The first job we did as the Thieves of the Wood was to force a treethane to give a poor village more resources. That was a long time ago. I couldn't believe that this world looked down on the way of the rogue. Not following anyone's rules, not adhering to laws that cause pain and suffering among the poor and unfortunate.' He let out a soft, sullen chuckle. His eyes made a sharp adjustment, filled with hate and malice. 'Why did she have to leave? Knowing we were all abandoned once, she left us. That's when I understood who Ara High-Arrow truly was.' Monsotar raised his sword. 'She was—'

'A light that shines too bright.' I took a step forward. 'We've all saw a glimpse of Ara's light, but you're the only one that allowed it to blind you.'


End file.
